


Opening a Door

by valda



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is taller than Cecil, Carlos looks like Cecil Baldwin's imagined version, Cecil is Human, Cecil is older than Carlos, M/M, a little blood here and there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:16:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story follows Carlos and Cecil's relationship. It attempts to complement canon, filling in gaps here and there and incorporating information from later episodes into earlier episodes.</p><p>These are not really my headcanon Carlos and Cecil. These are...possibilities, based on canon. Carlos seems rather young these days, so I wanted to play with that, put that youthful energy into the story from the beginning. Meanwhile, I love all the Cecil headcanons, but I wanted to explore him just being average. Human, normal, and middle aged. He's not special to Carlos because he's eldritch, or because he has unearthly powers. He's special because he's Cecil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wild Seismic Shifts

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter One goes with the pilot episode.

Cecil Palmer was not the sort of guy Carlos would usually date. He wasn't even the sort of guy Carlos would usually notice. Cecil was of an average height, which left him considerably shorter than Carlos. And he was of an average build, nothing special; Carlos generally went for guys who worked out at least a little. Cecil's hair was thinning and going gray. Unlike the premature gray at Carlos' temples, Cecil's gray was earned. It matched the lines on his forehead, at the corners of his mouth, and between his eyebrows. It matched hands that were more rough than smooth.

Carlos was 28 years old, and he was tall and in excellent shape, and he'd been told he had something of a youthful voice. The graying of his hair had actually been somewhat welcome, as it gave him a certain measure of authority. He was a scientist, first and foremost, but for most of his career, he'd had trouble getting people to take him seriously.

He'd dated pretty much continuously since middle school, moving from one pretty boy to the next. The longest relationship he'd been in had lasted two years, in grad school; they'd hardly seen each other, so it took that long to get restless. The shortest had been two days. None of them had been particularly serious, but all of them had been fun. And that was the point of dating. It was a good way to clear his head, to reboot his brain. It made him a more efficient scientist.

So no, Cecil Palmer was not the sort of guy Carlos would usually notice. And that was why Carlos didn't notice him, sitting there among the other reporters at the town meeting Carlos and his team held upon their arrival in Night Vale. In fact, Carlos' gaze passed right over Cecil, drawn instead to intriguing things like the TV reporter with the extra arm, and the newspaper writer with all the eyes on her neck, and the suspicious line of dark-suited people in the back of the room.

"Night Vale is, by _far_ , the most scientifically interesting community in the US," he informed the gathered townspeople, trying not to stare too intently at anyone in particular. "We've come to study just _what_ is going on around here!" And he couldn't hold back a broad grin. Night Vale was going to be great.

~

There were several ways in which citizens of Night Vale received their news. First, there were two newspapers, which was impressive for a small town in the context of the modern media conglomerate landscape. The Night Vale Daily Journal seemed to be the big dog; the other paper, the Night Vale Weekly Gazette, was rather low profile, and Carlos really only knew it existed because their reporter Lauren James had attended his town meeting.

In contrast, there was only one local TV news station, Channel 6. It wasn't affiliated with a network, according to the kid stocking shelves at the drug store, whom Carlos had pumped for information while picking up his allergy medicine. (Ragweed season was winding down, but he didn't want to take any chances.) Channel 6 was, Drug Store Guy informed him, owned by "the government". The kid didn't provide further details, frustratingly sidestepping Carlos' follow-up questions.

Finally, there was the local radio station. When Carlos stopped in at Big Rico's after the town meeting to grab a couple of pizzas for his team, a talk radio program was playing through the speakers set into the ceiling.

"What's that?" he asked, surprised that the restaurant wasn't piping in music.

"Night Vale Community Radio," the cashier said. "Cecil's on."

"Huh," Carlos said, scribbling on the credit card receipt.

The cashier raised an eyebrow at his signature, as if there was something wrong with it. (Carlos didn't yet know to stamp his thumbprint in blood.) She continued in a mild voice, "You're new here. You should plan to listen regularly. Cecil's show can tell you everything you need to know about living in Night Vale. The station's an institution. It's been operating for centuries."

Carlos chuckled shortly. _Centuries._ It wasn't the best joke, but it _did_ imply that a lot of people listened to NVCR, and had listened to it for a long time. That meant the radio station was both an important source of local news and a good way for Carlos to get messages out when needed. "Thanks," he said, stuffing his copy of the receipt into one of the pockets of his lab coat.

The fact that radio was apparently a big deal seemed befitting of quaint little Night Vale, a town that in many ways felt...outside of time. (Months later, Carlos would shake his head at himself for ever having the romantic notion that this wasn't literal.)

He settled down into the hard plastic of a booth along the bank of windows fronting Big Rico's to wait for his pizzas. It was strange, he thought again, to have talk radio instead of music. But the host--Cecil, the cashier had called him--had _quite_ the voice. Now that Carlos wasn't distracted by having someone to ask questions of, he realized he'd been enjoying the man's voice this whole time, letting the deep, rich tones wash over him without really comprehending anything the radio host was saying.

What _was_ he saying?

"Desert Bluffs is always trying to show us up through fancier uniforms, better pre-game snacks, and, possibly, by transporting a commercial jet into our gymnasium, delaying practice for several minutes, at least! For shame, Desert Bluffs. For shame."

"Wait, really?" Carlos said aloud, delighted, then dismayed. His first day here, and something _that_ incredible had already happened, and he'd _missed_ it?

But the man, Cecil, was moving on to another story.

"That new scientist, we now know, is named Carlos," intoned that sonorous voice. 

Carlos blinked, then laughed. "What, is my name news?"

"He called a town meeting," Cecil was saying. "He has a square jaw and teeth like a military cemetery. His hair is perfect, and we all hate and despair and _love_ that perfect hair in equal measure."

... _what?_

Carlos managed not to speak aloud this time, but his hands flew unconciously to his head, to a torrent of curls that yes okay he _was_ proud of and _did_ style to look like this. He felt eyes on him, so many eyes. He glanced around the room. There weren't _that_ many people at Big Rico's. A couple at the next booth. A man in the corner. The cashier he'd spoken to earlier. But all eyes were on Carlos. And somehow there were simply _too many eyes_.

Cecil was still talking. Something about salt? And then he was reporting what Carlos had said at the meeting, and--

"He grinned, and everything about him was _perfect_ ," Cecil said. "And I fell in love _instantly_."

Carlos blinked again, slower this time. Cecil's voice went on, as though what he'd just said had been a completely normal part of a completely normal news story, but Carlos didn't register anything else.

"Order," called the cashier with a languid grin, "for _Carlos_."

He rose mutely to collect his pizzas. He could still feel the eyes.

This was ridiculous. Institution or not, how could he take a guy like that seriously? What was this, a joke program?

"You _do_ have pretty perfect hair," the cashier remarked.

"Thank you," Carlos said primly as the pizza boxes were stacked in his arms. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have _science_ to do."

~

The team's first stop was the Desert Creek housing development, out back of the elementary school where, apparently, a commercial airliner had disrupted basketball practice earlier in the day. This proximity had nothing to do with their interest, however. There was a house in Desert Creek that simply did not exist. They'd discovered it coincidentally upon arrival this morning, when they'd taken a drive through town to get their bearings. Rochelle had been the one to notice the needle on her Danger Meter wobbling toward red, as the rest of them had been distracted by their Egg McMuffins.

"We need to be careful not to slip into bad habits," Dave announced as they pulled up to the curb in front of where the house would be, if it actually existed. He brandished a slice of pizza at the other five scientists. "First fast food breakfast and now this. It'll be good when we all get settled and I have access to a kitchen."

"We should stop eating in the Science Van altogether," Carlos said. "It's messy."

"Not if we bring enough napkins!" Jessica protested. "We have too much to do to _not_ eat in the van."

"...okay, you have a point." Carlos shoved one last bite of pizza crust into his mouth and licked his fingers. "Let's get to it, shall we?"

Presently they were all six of them standing on the sidewalk, staring at a house that really did seem like it existed, but did not.

"Sooo," Akiko said after a long pause, "how did you want to do this?"

Carlos scratched at the back of his head, curling his fingers into his hair. _Hmph. Hair,_ he thought, and pulled his hand away. _'Cecil,' huh?_ he thought. _Did I even meet him at the town meeting? Obviously he was there..._

"Carlos?" asked Dave.

"...right," Carlos said. "I dunno. How do you determine the properties of a house that doesn't exist?"

"We could knock on the door," Keyon suggested. "See what happens."

"Yeah?" Rochelle said. "You want to do it?"

"...not really."

"Oh come on, Keyon," Dave said. "It was your idea."

"I _triple dog dare you,_ " Jessica smirked.

Carlos sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. This was going to be harder than he thought.

~

Ultimately they'd all taken various readings, and recorded those readings, and verified those readings, and then they'd quietly gotten back into the Science Van and driven away, having never come in contact--or not-contact--with the not-house.

"How about we take a look at the monitoring station?" Carlos said into the gloom. "Get a feel for the equipment?"

"Sure," Dave said, changing course toward Route 800. The others were quiet. Jessica was picking at a leftover pizza slice.

"We have _so much_ to figure out," Carlos said bracingly. "This is the challenge we've been waiting for. What an opportunity, to study all this!"

"I know we're all about the same age, Carlos," Akiko sighed, "but sometimes it seems like you're a teenager."

Carlos started pouting, then realized what he was doing and stopped. It was mid-afternoon, though, and the sun was bright through the windows of the van, and Keyon had seen.

"Not a _word_ ," Carlos grumbled at him.

"Okay, fine," Keyon said smoothly. "Not a word about you making a pouty baby face."

Keyon was cute, and flirty, and Carlos probably would have gone for it if he hadn't learned his lesson about dating colleagues back in grad school. "Shut up," he said, and the rest of the team laughed.

Carlos had the impression that they all saw him as some sort of adorable mascot character. And, well, he _was_ pretty adorable. But he was also the leader of the team, so...

"Look, we'll check out the monitoring station, and then we'll head back to the lab and get things set up there," he said, crossing his arms. "We've got a lot of planning to do if we want to tackle this place properly."

"Aye aye, sir," Rochelle said, giving him a mock salute. She was smiling, and so were the others.

Carlos smiled too.

~

"What. Just...what."

"I know. But I've checked the equipment. Fifteen times."

Carlos nodded at Dave's words. He'd watched. He'd checked it himself.

"I just...what." Carlos' hands went to his temples, fingers digging into his hair. _Apparently_ Night Vale should have shaken to dust by now, or the ground beneath it should have cracked and swallowed it up, or some combination of the two. _Apparently_ he should be feeling the earthquakes the monitoring equipment was picking up _right now_.

He felt _nothing_ , and the city was _fine_.

"This is _amazing_ ," Carlos said, "and _totally frustrating_."

A phone was suddenly ringing. Carlos looked around and spied it hanging on the wall next to the bank of consoles, an old rotary thing, bright red. He glanced at Dave, picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello!" came a chipper voice from the other end. "This is Chad. I'm an intern at Night Vale Community Radio. I wanted to ask you about any scientific discoveries you might have made today, for the show."

"What? Oh," Carlos said. "Listen, our seismic monitors have been indicating _wild_ seismic shifts. The ground should be going up and down all _over_ the place. We've double-checked the monitors, and they are in perfect working order. _Listen_ ," he said again, his voice lowering to a hiss, "there are _catastrophic earthquakes_ happening in Night Vale _right now_ , but _no one can feel them_!"

"Yes, sir," the boy replied cheerfully. "Got it!"

"No," Carlos said, mostly in response to the kid's incongruous tone, but then--

"Chad!" Carlos heard a distant voice call out on the other end of the line. A _familiar_ voice. "When you're done there could you run over to the Used and Discount Sporting Goods Store on Flint Drive?"

"Sorry," Chad said quickly into the phone, "I've gotta go!" And he hung up. Carlos lowered the receiver from his ear and blinked at it.

"Was that a good idea?" Akiko asked. Everyone had gathered around during the phone call, it seemed. "If no one's actually _feeling_ the earthquakes, why tell the whole town until we have more data? Do you want people to panic?"

"...oh," Carlos said, setting the receiver slowly back into its cradle. "That was stupid." He glanced around, feeling a sudden muted desperation. "Anybody know the number to that station?"

The others shook their heads.

"I know where it is, though," Keyon said. "We passed it earlier."

"Maybe we can stop them from saying anything," Carlos said, grasping at straws. "It's worth a shot. Let's go. The rest of you can stay here for now...keep watching those monitors!" And then he was sprinting out the door, Keyon belatedly rushing to follow.

~

The radio station was a squat building that lay sprawling beneath an enormous tower with a blinking red light. Carlos leapt from the van almost before Keyon had come to a complete stop. He wrenched open the heavy stone double doors beneath the purple NVCR logo, cast wildly about the empty reception area, and began pounding on a door marked "STAFF ONLY". After only about, oh, _fifty_ knocks, the door swung open, and a teenage boy carrying a messenger bag was standing there.

"Oh!" he said, and Carlos recognized Chad's voice. "Mr. Scientist. What brings you here? Mr. Palmer has me going on an errand..."

"I need him to _not_ report the things I told you on the phone," Carlos interrupted. "Stop him, please!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir!" Chad looked appropriately chagrined. "Mr. Palmer just reported on it."

Carlos slumped as all his nervous energy evaporated at once. "Damn," he said.

"Did you need to tell Mr. Palmer anything else?" Chad asked, hopping from foot to foot. He looked anxious to leave.

Carlos sighed. "No," he said. "No, that's okay--"

Just then, one of the stone doors opened just enough to admit the top half of Keyon's head and a hand holding a Geiger counter. "Um, Carlos? Have you taken any readings?"

"No...why?"

"This looks _bad_."

Keyon didn't seem to want to come in, so Carlos crossed the room to join him at the door. He glanced down at the Geiger counter.

"...oh," he said. "Um. Chad, was it? I do have something to speak with Mr. Palmer about after all, if I could."

~

"He's about to go to the weather. You can go in then," Chad said quietly. He'd led Carlos at a swift jog through labyrinthine hallways, past a door with a frosted glass window that filled Carlos with incomprehensible dread, past perhaps half a dozen empty recording booths, dimly lit...until finally here they stood before a door that was half solid and half reinforced glass, a red "ON AIR" light blazing above it.

Carlos had mostly been staring down at the Geiger counter, growing more and more alarmed at how the radiation increased in direct relationship to his progress through the station. Now, flummoxed until the "ON AIR" light turned off, he glanced up, looked in at the man at the desk.

 _Incongruous_ seemed like an unkind word, but it was the first one that came to mind. Carlos wasn't sure what he'd expected, but he'd apparently expected someone more...striking? Menacing? But Cecil Palmer was, well, _nondescript_.

That was another unkind word. But it _fit_. The man was neither tall nor short, neither thin nor fat. He was just...a man. A pretty average-looking man, with thinning hair and a wrinkled forehead and a bit of a belly and a button-down shirt rolled to the elbows. And glasses, and...a fanny pack. He was older than Carlos; it was hard to tell by how much, but it could be as few as eight years and as many as fifteen.

It seemed remarkable that such a voice could come from such a man...at least until, all of a sudden, Cecil smiled, and it was a _wicked_ smile that thrilled Carlos down to his toes.

He shuddered.

Cecil gave a button on the control board in front of him a definitive tap, and the "ON AIR" sign over the door went off. Carlos came back to himself, raised the Geiger counter, and shouldered his way through the door.

"Oh!" Cecil said--apparently he hadn't noticed Carlos waiting outside. " _Hello_."

Carlos felt another thrill. "Excuse me," he responded briskly, casting his eyes down to the blinking, crackling device in his hand. "I'm just testing the place for materials." It was getting worse and worse the closer he got to Cecil. Was it...the microphone?

"Oh," Cecil said again. "Are you finding any?"

Carlos raised the Geiger counter to the microphone, swallowing as it pretty much went insane. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I am." He raised his eyes quickly to Cecil's, his stomach roiling. "Mr.--"

"Cecil. Please."

"...Cecil," Carlos said, dropping his gaze again. "You need to evacuate the station. _Now_." He started backing toward the door.

"Oh." Was that the only word the man was capable of saying? But no, he was so eloquent on the radio.

Carlos grunted. "It's not safe. You need to get out." He spun in place--a small part of his mind conscious of the fact that his lab coat had just swirled and flapped about him like a cape--and stalked out of the recording booth.

As soon as he was out of sight of the door, Carlos broke into a run. Chad was gone. It seemed like a security issue to leave a guest to his own devices in a radio station. That errand to the sporting goods store must be _pretty damn important_.

In any case, Carlos had a pretty good memory, so not having Chad around to guide him out of the station didn't seem like it would be much of an issue. But then he reached the front doors.

And they wouldn't open.

" _What_ ," Carlos puffed, shoving one of the doors as hard as he could. Nothing. "Ugh," he said, and he threw himself into the door, and nothing happened. "I have to _get out of here_."

Was Keyon still outside? Could he open the door from there?

Carlos banged on the door, shouted Keyon's name. "Hey! _Open the door_!"

Nothing happened. Carlos balled his fists helplessly, wondering if he could break one of the windows. There didn't seem to be much around to use as a weapon, and jumping through a glass window would slice him to ribbons. Carlos yelled something incoherent and punched the door, knuckles stinging as the stone bit into them.

The door swung open of its own accord.

" _Wha_ \--"

Carlos was not one to waste opportunities. He fled through the door, and it swung shut behind him.

The van was idling out front, and Keyon had the radio on. No wonder he hadn't heard.

"Geez," he said as Carlos climbed into the passenger seat, "what'd you do to your hand?"

Carlos grimaced at his bleeding knuckles. "I paid a blood price to get out the door," he joked dourly. (Later, of course, he'd learn that that was exactly what he'd done.) "Come on, let's go, we need to get to a decon chamber ASAP."

Keyon pulled away from the curb. "Is the Geiger counter still on?" he asked curiously, glancing sidelong at it.

"Uh, hmm. Yeah," Carlos said. It wasn't reading anything at all. "How could I get _that close_ and not be contaminated?" he muttered.

"Maybe it's damaged. We'll check ourselves out when we get to the lab," Keyon said.

"Oh!" Carlos pulled out his cell phone to call the other scientists at the monitoring station. "Hey, Rochelle. Can you guys get a taxi or a bus or something back? Keyon and I need to get to decon, and we might need to decontaminate the Science Van too. Okay, good. Great. See you soon."

~

They hadn't been to the lab since this morning, when they'd offloaded all their equipment before heading out to survey the city. This was essentially their first time in their new workspace. Surrounded by humming electrical equipment and long tables covered in beakers and flasks, Carlos finally felt himself starting to calm down. It seemed like he'd been running all day, and could only now catch his breath.

The Geiger counter was in perfect working order. Carlos and Keyon were fine. They didn't know why, but they were fine. Maybe the old saying was true.

Carlos pulled a stool out from beneath the nearest lab bench and settled down on it.

"Hmm, that's weird," Akiko said.

"What?" asked Dave, glancing over from where he was sprawled out on the futon toward the desk, where Akiko sat at a laptop.

"Well, I was just checking the weather, since the radio's being _extremely_ unhelpful about that--"

It was true. The "weather" had been playing for what seemed like hours, but it was just some folksy acoustic song.

"--and I happened to glance at the sunset time, and, well, it's right now."

Carlos raised an eyebrow, glanced out the window. The sun wasn't even touching the horizon yet.

"What," he said, for what seemed like the millionth time today. "Okay," and he scrubbed his hands back through his hair, "let's be logical about this. _Are our clocks working_."

In short order, the team had assembled every clock they owned: computers with clocks, smartphones with clocks, watches, and a desk clock that had come with the lab. They checked the times, and the times were consistent, if not perfectly matched; and they checked the official atomic time online.

Everything seemed to be in order, except the sun.

It took ten minutes for the star to settle below the horizon. Carlos had Jessica time it while he busily performed his own sunset calculations. After all, why should he trust an online weather forecast? Maybe there was a typo. Maybe some other scientist had gotten their calculations wrong. It _happened_.

But it hadn't happened _this time_.

The six of them ultimately found themselves clustered cross-legged on the floor around the desk clock, staring at it, shaking their heads and muttering to each other.

"Did the Earth's rotation slow down?" Carlos asked no one in particular. "Was it some sort of mirage? Was the air... _thicker_ today, causing more atmospheric refraction than usual? _Are we having a mass hallucination_?"

"We'll figure it out," Dave said in a soothing voice. "We're the best. That's why we're _here_."

Carlos nodded, but it was halfhearted. He was overwhelmed and suddenly very, very tired.

The acoustic music, long forgotten in the background, faded away, and then Cecil's voice was saying, "Welcome back, listeners."

Carlos jumped, startled.

"The sun didn't set at the correct time today, Carlos and his team of scientists report. They are quite certain about it. They checked multiple clocks, and the sun definitely set ten minutes later than it was supposed to. I asked them if they had any explanations, but they did not offer anything concrete. Mostly, they sat in a circle around a desk clock, staring at it, murmuring, and cooing."

"What the-- _how in the_ \--" Carlos leapt to his feet, frantically raking his eyes over the room. " _Does he have cameras in here_?!"

(There were cameras, of course, but they weren't Cecil's.)

"Um, sorry," Jessica said. "I called this one in. I figure if people are already going to be worried about the earthquakes, we may as well tell them _everything_. Maybe someone out there knows something that can help us figure it all out." She cocked her head to one side. "Odd that he gave _you_ all the credit."

"'Credit' is not the word I would use," Carlos practically whined. He slouched over to the futon and collapsed on it. " _Why would you do that_ without even _asking_ me?" He flung an arm over his face. Through the thick fabric of his lab coat sleeve, he heard Dave chuckle. "And _why_ ," he moaned, voice muffled by his elbow, "would you tell them that we were _murmuring and cooing_?"

"I think he must have embellished that part," Jessica said, laughing nervously, and Carlos decided to let it go, even though he'd gotten the distinct impression that Cecil had the ability to quote people verbatim without taking notes.

"You guys," he said, sliding his arm off his face and sitting up, "I'm in charge, okay? Let me figure out what we should tell, um, _the media_ , and when. Okay?"

"Roger that, boss," Rochelle said, giving Jessica a pointed look.

"Sorry," Jessica said with an embarrassed smile.

"We're with you, Carlos," Dave said.

"Yeah," agreed Akiko and Keyon in unison. They glanced at each other and grinned.

Carlos let out a long, slow breath. Okay. This first day in Night Vale had not gone as planned, but they'd learned a lot. They might not actually _understand_ everything they'd learned yet, but that would come later, with more science.

And he had a good team, a team who trusted him. A team he could trust, too (well, mostly).

It would be fine.

~

That night, Carlos lay awake in bed, restless. The day's events pounded at him, each inexplicable thing rearing up to demand his attention. A house that does not exist. Doors that refuse to open until punched. A sunset at the wrong time. Earthquakes you can't feel. Radiation that somehow doesn't contaminate.

Cecil Palmer.

Carlos felt his cheeks warming for no reason he could fathom, and he shuddered for the second time that day. _He is so...strange._


	2. Decimated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carlos gets a haircut...and some other things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes along with episode 3, "Station Management."

"I'm going to do it," Carlos said resolutely, snapping his laptop closed.

"Oh, Carlos, no," Akiko said.

"That would be _tragic_ ," Keyon agreed, and he might not have been kidding.

"I _have_ to. He won't stop _talking_ about it."

'He' was Cecil Palmer, and 'it' was Carlos' hair, and the other 'it' was that Carlos was going to get a buzz cut.

"Are you _sure_?" Dave said. "I know how much your hair means to you."

"Shut up." Carlos cast his eyes to the heavens. That is, he rolled his eyes. That is, he rotated his eyes in their sockets to indicate frustration and annoyance. He didn't literally _remove_ his eyes and throw them at the sky, though he was tempted. "I'll be back in an hour or two."

~

A stylist would never do this, Carlos knew. He had to find a _barber_. Someone who simply cut hair, who didn't see their work as an art of any kind.

Yelp would be useless for this, so he did the only thing he could think of, even though it was kind of mean: he asked Big Rico where he got his hair cut. (It wasn't _Carlos_ ' fault Big Rico's hair was, well, utilitarian at _best_.)

And so it was that Carlos navigated his hybrid coupe across town and pulled into street parking near a spinning red and white barber pole and a sign reading 'Telly's'. Yes. Yes, this would do nicely.

The shop was homey, if a little run down. A mural on the back wall featured a colorful coastline beneath a Greek phrase painted in large, sweeping letters. Mirrors and barber chairs flanked the room leading up to the window at the front, which was of course heavily barred.

As Carlos pushed the door open, the faint sound of Night Vale Community Radio floated out into the street. _Of course_ , he thought ruefully.

A moustachioed middle-aged man was the only one working in the shop at present. Carlos wondered why there were so many barber chairs. As the barber was in the middle of giving another man a shave, Carlos settled himself on the threadbare couch beneath the window and pulled out his phone.

"Be right with you," the barber nodded at him. Then, "Hey, you are that new scientist, yes?"

"Yes," Carlos said. "Carlos. Nice to meet you. Telly?"

"That is me," the man confirmed. He slid the straight-edge razor back into its leather pouch at his hip, handing his customer a face towel. "There you go...Ernest?"

The customer said something, but Carlos couldn't quite make it out. Or if he had heard it, he couldn't remember it. Carlos shook his head. From a nearby table, Cecil's voice was saying something about a new stadium; maybe that was distracting him, although he couldn't really remember what Cecil had been talking about either.

The man stood up from the barber chair and retrieved a tan jacket from the back of the next chair. Pulling it on, he slipped a hand into an interior pocket and handed Telly a few bills. Carlos watched him step fluidly to the door, picking up a deerskin suitcase that had been sitting next to the couch. The man nodded to Carlos on his way out, and a buzzing sound that Carlos had assumed was the radio faded away.

"What did you need today, Carlos?" Telly was asking, and Carlos blinked and turned back from the door. Had he just been talking to someone? But no, no one was here, except him and Telly, who was gazing in apparent confusion at a couple of folded bills he was now for some reason holding in his hand.

"I need a haircut," Carlos said, standing, and Telly pocketed the bills and waved him toward one of the chairs. "Really short, like half an inch."

"Ah, the desert is hot, yes?" Telly replied. "I understand."

"Yes," Carlos said, grateful that a convenient excuse existed. It was fine for his team to know the real reason, but no one else really needed to know. He settled into the chair, leaned back as Telly draped the barber cape over him, closed his eyes and tried to relax. Up until now he'd tried not to think about it too much...but Carlos was _really_ going to miss his hair.

Forcing himself to ignore the sounds of his curled locks being snipped, Carlos focused on the radio. Cecil was now talking about contract negotiations, which seemed like an odd thing for on-air talent to mention on the air.

"Sometimes, you can see movements through the frosted glass. Large shapes shifting around, strange tendrils whipping through the air," Cecil was saying, and Carlos vividly remembered that door he'd passed at the station, weeks ago on his first day in town, the one that had left him with existential dread for days.

"So that's what that was," he murmured.

"Look," Cecil continued, "I've probably said too much. I can see down the hall that an envelope just came flying out. I pray it's not another HR re-training session in the dark box."

Carlos' lips twitched.

After that, though, Cecil went on to report some actual news. Carlos kept his eyes closed and lost himself in the thrumming sound of the man's voice, letting the content slip by like the smooth water of a stream. Before he knew it, Telly was patting him on the shoulder.

"Good?" the barber asked.

Carlos opened his eyes, sat up, and looked at his reflection in the broad mirror along the wall. He barely recognized himself. His hands fought their way out from beneath the barber cape, going automatically to his head, and he felt around at this new, unfamiliar landscape. The texture was oddly spiky, rather than soft. It _looked_ spiky too. No, not spiky. He looked like...like a chia pet.

Carlos was appalled.

"Good," he managed to say, forcing his emotions off his face. "Good. Thank you very much."

~

Carlos flipped on the radio for the drive back to the lab. He didn't even really think about it. He just wanted _something_ to focus on that wasn't the criminal act he'd just perpetuated against his hair.

"We sent our intern, Chad, to try buying a tennis racket--" Cecil was saying, and Carlos smiled, because he remembered Chad, the somewhat flighty, nervous teenager who'd shown him around the station. "--and have not heard back from him for several weeks. This brings me to a related point: to the parents of Chad the intern, we regret to inform you that your son was lost in the line of community radio duty, and that he will be missed, and never forgotten."

Carlos' smile evaporated. He'd known that life here was dangerous--life was dangerous in general, but Night Vale had special variables--but he hadn't really _comprehended_ it. You could die just running errands. You could die doing anything.

You could die saying too much about your station management.

Abruptly, Carlos pulled over. _Surely_ Cecil knew better than to _really_ endanger himself, he reasoned. But then he remembered the radio host saying ' _I'm a reporter at heart! I can't not report,_ ' shortly before receiving the dread envelope.

Carlos shook his head. What did he care anyway? So a malevolent radio host who liked to obsess about Carlos' hair _might_ get in trouble with his bosses. How was that Carlos' problem?

Swallowing against the hint of bile rising into his throat, Carlos cut the radio off, pulled back onto the road, and continued back to the lab.

~

"Carlos," Jessica said from across the lab bench, "he's talking about your hair."

Carlos rolled his eyes. "When I said I didn't want to listen to the radio, that included _hearing about what's on the radio_ ," he said. "Besides, of _course_ he's talking about my hair, he doesn't know about the haircut yet--"

Jessica unplugged her headphones and the radio's speakers crackled to life. "Listeners," Cecil said, "I am not one to gossip, even if it _is_ a local celebrity, but please, explain to me why Carlos would strip away, _decimate_ , any part of his thick black hair, not to ignore the dignified, if premature, touch of gray at the temples?"

Headdesk. Head. Desk.

Carlos pounded his forehead into the cold metal of the lab bench four, five, six times. Then he just left his head there, turning so that his cheek rested on the surface. " _Whyyyyyyy_ ," he moaned, over what sounded like Cecil putting a hit out on Telly the barber.

"Come on, Jess, turn it off. Leave him alone," Keyon said.

"No," Carlos sighed dramatically, "it's _fine_. Leave it on. Who even cares anymore. Let's just...get back to work."

His hair was gone, _for no reason_.

_Ugh._

Carlos was making a valiant attempt to focus on the reaction in the Petri dish in front of him when he heard Cecil say, "--now threatening to shut down my show...or possibly my life. For good. Their wording was...uh, kind of ambiguous."

"You're an idiot," he told the radio, incredulously.

"Have we ever figured out if this is a comedy show or not?" Dave asked.

"Yeah," Rochelle said. "Sometimes it seems _really_ funny, but then you wonder if he's actually being serious, and it's not so funny anymore."

"Based on everything _I've_ witnessed," Carlos grunted, pushing up from the table, "it's definitely _not_ a comedy show."

Akiko and Keyon glanced up from their workstations, and Jessica turned up the volume, and then the whole team was clustered around the radio.

"So, if you like this show, and you want to hear more of it," Cecil said, his voice barely controlled, "then we need to hear from you." The radio host paused, and when he spoke again, he sounded childlike. Afraid. "Make your voice heard to _whatever it is_ that lies in wait behind that darkened office door."

Some sort of otherworldly sound issued forth from the speakers then, vast and incomprehensible and echoing into what seemed like eternal depths, and hearing it gave Carlos a trembling echo of the dread he'd felt at the station.

Cecil stammered something and went to a prerecorded message.

"Do you...do you think we should write letters?" Akiko asked dubiously.

"Would they even get there in time?" Rochelle responded.

"I don't see where we can do anything, really," Keyon said. "Guy's kind of dug himself into a hole."

Carlos ran a hand back through his hair--or would have, if there was any left. _Ugh._

"This is dumb," he announced, "and it's distracting us from--"

The prerecorded ad ended, and the roiling sound returned, and Cecil's voice whispered desperately, "And now, sweet, _sweet_ listeners...the weather."

Carlos hopped off his stool--there really was no cool way to get off a damn lab stool--and straightened the lapels of his lab coat with a definitive jerk. "People," he said in a smooth, confident voice, "I'm going out for a bit. I'll be back." And he spun heroically and strode off toward the door.

Honestly, he had no idea what he was doing, and he only vaguely realized where he was going as he threw himself into his car and flipped the radio on. The weather was still going, and it was a very soothing report today, but that only caused his stomach to flip-flop _more_. He was blind and deaf; there was no way to know what was happening while this little intermission was going on. And who knew how long it would last? Would it keep going long after something had happened to Cecil? Would the weather end, replaced by dead air?

"...Hello, radio audience?" came Cecil's voice abruptly. "I come to you live from under my desk where I've dragged my microphone and am currently hiding in the fetal position."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Carlos shouted at the radio.

"Did you write letters?" Cecil was saying, in a voice that was like a gasp. An unearthly howl sounded somewhere in the distance beyond him. "Maybe you should not do this anymore. Station management has opened its door for the first time in my memory and is now roaming the building." The noises were terrible; Carlos could barely concentrate on Cecil's words. "I don't know exactly what management looks like, as that is when I took cover under my desk, and I can only hope that they are not listening to what's going out right now or else I may have sealed my fate."

"Stop _talking_ and _run_!" Carlos yelled in frustration, flooring the gas pedal.

But Cecil wouldn't stop talking. He described what station management sounded like as it, they, _whatever_ moved about-- _you idiot_. Then he named another lost intern. Then he inexplicably started doing a community calendar segment. _He's lost it. He's completely lost it._

The eldritch scream sounded again, _closer_ this time, and Cecil gasped. Carlos shuddered and slammed on the brake, his hybrid screeching to a stop in front of Night Vale Community Radio.

"I...I'm going to see if I can make a break for the door," Cecil said shakily, his voice soft yet intense. "If you don't hear from me again, it has truly been a pleasure. Good night, Night Vale. And...goodbye."

Then the radio _did_ go to dead air, but Carlos was already out of the car and sprinting for the front door. He'd almost made it when he heard a slamming sound, then a gasping grunt. It had come from around the corner of the building. _Of course_ , he realized, _the employees have their own entrance_. He changed direction, charging toward the source of the sound.

There was Cecil Palmer, pressing himself back against a closed stone door, panting.

Carlos drew up short, ducking instinctively behind a woman in a coal gray suit and dark glasses who was holding a sign that read "I am a tree." (This was the thirteenth one he'd seen since his arrival in Night Vale. It seemed best to play along.)

As Cecil caught his breath and sucked at what appeared to be a fresh wound on his thumb, Carlos took stock of the situation. There was no indication that station management had followed their hapless employee out of the building, or even that they were behind the door now. All was quiet save Cecil's ragged breathing.

The radio host dragged a forearm across his brow, tipped his head back, and gazed at the darkening sky. "Well," he said to himself, " _that_ was something. It's too bad I'm no longer on the air, to let everyone know what happened. But the show has to end when it has to end."

Cecil smiled, and it was the secret sort of smile one only smiled for oneself, and it gave Carlos a shiver to see it. There was something _about_ that smile, something electric, maybe? But no, it was more than electric. More _compelling_ than that.

The tree Carlos was hiding behind suddenly sneezed. Cecil politely ignored it, much to Carlos' relief. He didn't know what he'd do if he was discovered. What would he say? For that matter...why was he even here?

Carlos felt his face flushing, and he cast his gaze to the ground. Only when Cecil straightened his purple sweater vest over his white button-down and began moving toward what was apparently the employee parking lot--a few spaces alongside a vast ravine--did Carlos dare look back up. He watched as Cecil got into his car, watched as Cecil drove away. Finally, when he was sure the radio host was long gone, he emerged from behind the tree and made his way back to his own car.

~

Carlos was smiling for no apparent reason when he returned to the lab, which prompted Dave to ask, "Did you save your boyfriend?"

The smile evaporated, replaced by a blazing heat in his cheeks. "Wh-what?" he said, a little too loudly. "That's not what I was doing."

"What _were_ you doing?" Rochelle asked.

"Okay, I admit, I was curious to see what would happen. It turns out the radio guy can take care of himself just fine. I got there in time to see him leave the station."

"Did he see you?" Jessica demanded. " _Did he say anything about your hair_?"

"He didn't say anything about my hair," Carlos puffed in exasperation, flouncing over to the futon.

"So he _didn't_ see you," Jessica concluded.

Carlos flopped into a heap. "Did you guys get _any_ work done today at _all_?"

~

It occurred to Carlos later that this had been just the second time he'd ever seen Cecil Palmer in person. Third, if you counted the town meeting, but Carlos really couldn't remember seeing Cecil there.

Carlos had been listening to the show ever since his arrival in Night Vale, but he hadn't seen Cecil again since that first day. Until today.

 _What was it_ about that _smile_? It was like Cecil _knew_ something, like he carried incredible secrets, and maybe, just maybe, he'd share them.

His mouth was like a promise. Like the source of sacred knowledge. His thrumming voice was hypnotizing, and his lips were--

Carlos glanced down as he felt himself twitch, and he realized that not only was this the second time he'd seen Cecil Palmer in person, but it was the second time he'd found himself lying awake in bed _thinking_ about Cecil Palmer.

The man was clearly insane, and obsessive, and foolish, and dangerous. Carlos knew better than to get involved with bad boys.

But that wasn't quite right. "Bad boy" didn't seem to fit.

There was _something_ off, though, surely. What sort of person talks about someone else constantly and keeps tabs on their every move?

_A stalker. That's the type of person who does that._

He wasn't going to get any sleep at this rate. Carlos closed his eyes and reached under the covers. Time to see if he could tire himself out, make his brain stop for a while.

Maddeningly, as he worked himself to completion he couldn't quite drive that smile from his mind, or keep from imagining a low, purring voice.


	3. Mundane, Quotidian Tasks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tragedy strikes Carlos' happy place, a couple of blood sacrifices are made, and Carlos makes a joke that Cecil doesn't get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes with episode 8, "The Lights in Radon Canyon".

It had been yet another fruitless jaunt to the House That Does Not Exist. They could probably figure something out, Carlos mused, if any of them was willing to actually touch the house. Oh well. Dejected, he, Jessica, and Rochelle returned to the lab.

And discovered that the futon had been destroyed. Utterly destroyed. The frame was cracked, splintered, in pieces, and the mattress looked like it had pissed off a gang of baby raccoons.

"Oh, geez," Jessica moaned at Dave, who was fretting over the debris. " _What_ have you _done_ to Carlos' fainting couch?"

Rochelle let out a small gasp. Akiko and Keyon glanced up from their workstations, eyes wide. Dave coughed, and Jessica clapped her hands over her mouth.

Slowly, nervously, everyone turned to look at Carlos.

"My... _fainting couch_?" he repeated. " _Seriously_?"

Dave was suddenly fighting off a smirk, and Keyon and Rochelle looked like they were about to bust out laughing. A small smile was even twitching at the corners of Akiko's mouth. Jessica looked mortified, but that was probably just because she'd let their inside joke slip.

"Seriously," Carlos repeated. He threw up his hands, let out a long, loud sigh, and flounced across the room.

Unfortunately, due to the current state of the futon, he could not flop down and bury his face in the mattress. For a moment he stood awkwardly next to the broken pile, staring down at it with his hands on his hips. Then he glanced back at his team. Now even Jessica was grinning.

"Shut up," he said.

~

"You _know_ I've had that thing since college."

"...yeah. I'm really sorry, Carlos."

Carlos and Dave were standing in front of what used to be an IHOP, but was now Double-C Ritual-n-Rite Superstore. The peaked roof's original blue had been painted a sickly green; all the walls were a kind of pearlescent black that Carlos couldn't comprehend. 'Best Deal on Bloodstones in Town!' claimed a blood-red sign in the window.

It had emerged that while Dave was to blame for the destruction of the futon, the real culprits were the half-dozen pigs he'd brought into the lab. "I just figured we should have some around, for ritual sacrifices," he'd explained. "Everybody else does."

"At the _lab_ , though?" Carlos had protested. "Couldn't we leave them at the house?" 'The house' was a former boarding house in Old Town Night Vale the team was renting, mainly because it had enough rooms for all of them. It was rather like having their own private dormitory.

"We're _never_ at the house," Rochelle had reminded him, which was true. The place was nice enough, but there was science to be done. "They'd starve. Plus we wouldn't have any handy if we needed one."

"Okay _fine_ ," Carlos had finally agreed. It _would_ be convenient. He could even run some experiments the next time they needed to appease some lesser god, maybe find out how appeasement actually _worked_. "But we're getting them a _pen_."

So now here they were. Double-C seemed to be the best place in town for this sort of thing. In fact, it seemed to be the _only_ place in town for this sort of thing.

Instead of tinkling pleasantly when opened, Double-C's front door let out a long, low rumble that chilled Carlos to the bone. "Good morning!" called a woman in an incongruously chirpy voice. She was standing behind a low glass display case that was filled with elaborately crafted knives and what appeared to be preserved human remains--hands, ears, eyes, genitalia, feet. Around her, the walls were thick with staffs, swords, axes, cloaks, tall hats, banners, and other paraphernalia. Beyond, a door led back to what was labeled the 'Bloodstone Showroom;' the sound of pigs squealing and chickens squawking filtered faintly through another door. "How can I help you today?"

Carlos was entranced. "I think we just want to look around a little first," he said.

"Let me know if you need anything!"

Dave patted Carlos on the shoulder. "I'll go see about a pen," he said. It barely registered; Carlos had just sighted a case of venomous frogs.

The store was a treasure trove. Carlos wasn't sure why he hadn't come here sooner. There was just so much to do, so much to learn; he supposed he couldn't possibly have gotten to everything yet. But here he was, and there was so much to explore. He decided to take stock of the place methodically, starting on the right-hand wall and working back and forth the other way until he'd seen everything.

He was at the endcap of the second aisle, frowning over a My First Ritual Sacrifice kit--would it work for adults?--when he heard a familiar voice thrum through the air. He supposed someone must have turned the radio on.

"Isn't that your boyfriend?" Dave said out of nowhere. He was pointing.

Carlos jumped and somehow managed not to shriek at the sudden appearance of his team member. "Where the hell did you come from?" he hissed, grabbing Dave and pulling him down the aisle, out of sight of where, yes, Cecil Palmer was standing at the glass showcase talking to the proprietor.

"Um, I've been standing next to you for like five minutes," Dave said, not bothering to lower his voice. "I ordered a pen--"

"Quiet," Carlos said, though he wasn't sure why. He glanced at Dave, scratched at the back of his head. His hair was oh-so-slowly starting to come back in, _finally_. "I just don't want him to know I'm here," he whispered, lamely. "He's kind of a stalker, you know?" Carlos peeked furtively around a stack of spider jars--to make sure Cecil hadn't seen him, of course.

"Oh," the radio host was saying, apparently oblivious to the scientists, "while I'm here, can I go ahead and make my monthly blood sacrifice?"

"Now, Mr. Palmer," the proprietor smiled, "you know we don't have any official connection to the city council."

"Oh, I know," Cecil said, languidly, and for some reason Carlos' toes curled in his shoes. "But it's very convenient to be able to make deposits here, instead of having to go all the way down to city hall."

"We're happy to help the council," the woman allowed.

Cecil leaned forward and laid his arm across the glass counter. He was wearing a short-sleeve button-down today, so his arm was bare starting just below the slight curve of his bicep. The woman withdrew a coppery blade from a closed case behind the glass--a wicked thing, long and curving with an intricate handle. Carlos was rather relieved to see that she sanitized it before drawing it across the inside of Cecil's elbow.

The radio host hissed softly as blood sprayed across the blade, leaving a violent pattern of deep red spatters. Somehow, it didn't get anywhere else--not on the counter or on Cecil's clothes or even on the woman's hands.

"Expertly done, as always," Cecil said. The woman smiled and wiped down the knife with a velvet black cloth. Cecil nodded to her and turned to leave, opposite hand clutching the fresh wound closed.

"Wait," Carlos muttered. "Is he just going to leave like that? They don't give him a bandage or anything?"

Dave abruptly stepped out of the aisle. "Dave!" Carlos hissed after him, but further protests died in his throat, lest Cecil hear him. He could only watch as the other scientist strode to the front of the shop and opened the door for Cecil.

"Thank you!" Cecil smiled at Dave. "Hmm, I don't believe we've met, but you're one of Carlos' scientists, aren't you?"

 _Argh_ , Carlos moaned inwardly as the door swung shut behind the two men. _Just what do you think you're doing, Dave?_

For a long moment he stared at the door. He tapped his foot once, then twice. When it didn't seem that Dave would be reappearing anytime soon, Carlos jogged--no, _walked briskly_ \--to the front of the store and peered through the tinted window.

Cecil was leaning up against his own car. The trunk was popped and a first aid kit sat on the roof. Dave was applying a cotton ball and bandage to Cecil's inner elbow. Both men were smiling.

It was a very nice scene. Very pleasant. Just two guys having a conversation in the bright morning sun, a gentle breeze teasing through their hair, one man touching the other man's arm...Carlos was frowning a little, for some reason, but it was all fine, really...

Suddenly a _very_ excited look came over Cecil's face. The radio host stepped a little closer to Dave and asked a question _very intently_. Dave immediately raised his hands in a placating gesture--or maybe it was a come-no-further gesture, he had stepped back a little--smiled sympathetically, and shook his head.

And just like that, the excitement was gone. Cecil seemed to visibly deflate. The radio host shrugged, smiled, offered his hand for a shake. Shortly thereafter the first aid kit was back in the trunk, the trunk was firmly closed, and Cecil was driving away.

Carlos didn't even wait for the rumbling to stop when Dave stepped back through the door. "Well?" he demanded, shouting a bit to be heard over the noise. "What was _that_?"

"Apparently," Dave yelled back, "the sacrifice isn't sacrificial enough if you don't bleed on your way out." The welcoming reverberation finally subsided, and Dave shifted back into a normal speaking voice. "So he had to wait to patch himself up outside."

Carlos huffed impatiently and crossed his arms, looking askance at a pile of cricket crates. "What was with that bit at the end, though?"

"What bit at the end?"

"Seriously?" Carlos asked. "Where he asked you something and you said no. What was _that_?"

"Oh," Dave said. "Well. I'm starting to think you're right that he's a little stalkery."

"What? Why?"

"He was asking if you were here."

 _...and you told him no?_ Carlos did _not_ say, because he hadn't wanted Cecil to know he was here, had he? "Thanks, Dave," he said instead, in a voice that sounded toneless somehow, hollow.

"Sure. So did you want to get anything else? I put in an order for the pen, and it'll be delivered this afternoon."

"Oh, good," Carlos said. He shook his head to clear it, then folded his hands at the back of his neck. "I was thinking about one of those My First Ritual Sacrifice kits. They're for kids, but we gotta start somewhere, right? And maybe some spiders. And do you think we could use a glowing cockatiel--?"

~

By the time they'd satisfied Carlos' curiosity and gotten all their new purchases back to the lab, the morning was practically over, and Akiko and Rochelle were already discussing lunch plans.

"We've wasted half the day!" Carlos realized, throwing his head back in dismay. "I was going to go to Radon Canyon and look for evidence of whatever the hell that _was_ last weekend. But ugh, it's going to be so _hot_ out there now."

"We could just go tomorrow?" Keyon said.

"No," Carlos sighed, closing his eyes. "I don't want to give any evidence more time to walk away. I'll go. You guys can stay here and keep working on the time thing, or the earthquake thing, or whatever else."

"You sure? Probably not the safest idea, going out to a desert canyon by yourself," Rochelle remarked.

"A scientist is always fine," Carlos retorted. "I'll bring water."

~

His first stop was the house, because while he was perhaps foolish to head out to the desert in the heat of the day, he was not foolish enough to do so in such heavy clothing. Carlos traded his jeans for khaki shorts and his red flannel shirt-- _why had he even put that thing on_ \--for a Scientists Do It Scientifically t-shirt, perhaps the dorkiest thing he owned. A lightweight lab coat went on over that, and he was all set.

Coincidentally--because it was totally on the way from Old Town Night Vale to Radon Canyon--Carlos found himself approaching Night Vale Community Radio. He also found his coupe slowing down, perhaps of its own accord. You never knew.

Hey, it was possible Cecil's radio audience might have some information about Radon Canyon, right?

He pulled into a street parking space that happened to offer a view of the employee parking lot out back of the station, and he happened to notice that Cecil's car happened to be parked there. But he totally would have gone in even if Cecil wasn't here. This was about science.

~

As the show was not currently airing, Cecil came out to meet Carlos in the front lobby.

"Sooooo," the radio host said, a faint flush rising to his cheeks, and it suddenly occurred to Carlos that he and Cecil hadn't spoken since Carlos' first day in town. That seemed impossible, but it was true. Carlos had been listening to Cecil's show--whenever it was on, if he was brutally honest with himself--so to him it was as if he'd been in contact with the radio host regularly. But no. Carlos had only actually seen Cecil in person twice since. The first time was during Cecil's contract negotiations. The second time was earlier this morning. And Cecil hadn't known Carlos was there either time.

A couple of weeks ago, Cecil had come by the lab to ask Carlos something--Keyon said he thought it was about the moon?--but Carlos had been out at the monitoring station, so they hadn't spoken then, either...

Cecil coughed politely. "Was there something...you wanted to ask me?" he said with a shy smile.

Carlos realized he was fidgeting. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "Yes! Well," he said. "I need to know if you--or any of your listeners," he added hastily, "saw the series of bright, colorful flickers coming from Radon Canyon this past weekend, and if they were accompanied by unintelligible noises, possibly some form of coded communication or signal-jamming technique."

"Ah," Cecil said, drooping a bit. "Nothing else?"

"It's _very important_ ," Carlos said, finding himself somehow distressed at the radio host's apparent disappointment. "There could be some _very sinister forces_ at work here."

Cecil perked up at that. "I'll be sure to let my audience know," he said gravely. "Would you like to stay for a live interview?" The radio host reached out tentatively, fingertips just brushing the sleeve of Carlos' lab coat.

Carlos had been feeling strangely gratified, but that feeling evaporated at the whisper of warmth along his forearm, replaced by, well, something else. "No, thank you," he said stiffly, backing away and trying to collect his thoughts. Radon Canyon. Yes. Very dangerous. "I'm scared for you," he blurted stupidly. "For all of you, in your strange town," he amended as quickly as humanly possible. Still stupid, but whatever. He turned to leave...but when he pushed on one of the massive stone doors, nothing happened.

 _Right._ Would he have to punch it again?

Cecil chuckled softly. "Here," he said, drawing a pin from his breast pocket and pressing it into the tip of his own thumb. A quick swipe against the door, and the stone slab gave way immediately.

Carlos nodded wordlessly at the radio host and fled, clambering into his coupe and speeding away.

~

Later that afternoon, when Carlos had returned empty-handed from Radon Canyon and Cecil's show was actually in the middle of airing, Cecil called the lab.

"I'm hearing from several listeners and from the parks department that those flickering lights and unintelligible noises were coming from the 'Pink Floyd Multimedia Laser Spectacular'," he said helpfully. In the background, Carlos could hear Cecil on the radio saying something about a running man.

"How are you doing that?" he asked.

"Doing what? Oh, the traffic? The traffic does itself," Cecil said offhandedly. "Anyway, Pink Floyd?"

"Right," Carlos said, shaking his head. So just a concert, then. Weird place to hold one, though. "This situation is worse than I imagined!" he joked.

"Ah, I'm back in five. Thank you, Carlos." And Cecil hung up.

A few minutes later, surrounded by a team of scientists howling with laughter over Cecil's straight reporting of their conversation, Carlos desperately wished Dave's pigs hadn't trashed his happy place.

Maybe he'd just lay low again for awhile...


	4. A Pretty Big Bummer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carlos runs into Cecil twice, and expectations are adjusted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the title, but I've been trying to use quotes from the show for the chapter names, and, well, it fits...
> 
> This chapter covers events in episodes 9, "PYRAMID," and 11, "Wheat & Wheat By-Products."

A terrarium constructed of steel and reinforced glass was fine for holding a three-foot snake, but it could do absolutely nothing about the malevolent spirit that snake inexplicably turned into.

On the radio, Cecil was talking about how great somebody named Marcus Vansten was when Jessica suddenly gasped. Carlos turned just in time to see his team member hurtling away from the terrarium, a barely discernable greenish-white mist--supernatural, obviously--curling through the air after her.

"Jessica!" he shouted.

There was nowhere for her to go. She flung open the front door of the lab and barreled out. Carlos froze, afraid the spirit might change direction toward him, but it followed her, and so he followed it.

The late afternoon streets were filled with pale green mist. Jessica pulled up, flummoxed, then charged off again, dodging through any clear air she could find. All around her, citizens of Night Vale were running, screaming, and jerking to a stop as they were caught up in the haze. Their heads flew back, screams dying on their lips, mist tunneling violently into gaping eyes, flared nostrils and lolling mouths.

Carlos yanked out his anima meter and started scanning the people who were apparently being possessed.

"Carlos!" Jessica yelled at him, waving to indicate the mass of celadon smoke heading in his direction.

"Get back in the lab!" he yelled back. "The walls can't protect us but we've got animal bones in here!" He took his own advice, not bothering to close the door as he tore back across the room, thumbing frantically at his phone. "Dave," he said when the call connected, "the snakes have turned into some kind of...malevolent spirits. They can enter human souls of up to soul strength--" He looked quickly down at the anima meter. "--four."

Carlos glanced over his shoulder to see if any of the mist had entered the lab--and was glad he did, because he had barely enough time to dive out of the way of a flying lab bench. "They can also apparently move objects weighing around 200 pounds," he huffed from where he'd ended up splayed out on the floor. "Tell Cecil. I've got to build a lean-to out of animal bones..."

~

There was a reason Carlos hadn't gone along with Dave and the others to the radio studio to get the word out about wheat and wheat by-products turning into snakes. It wasn't a _good_ reason.

The day Carlos and his scientists had first arrived in Night Vale, the monitoring station out near Route 800 had picked up massive tectonic shifts, and the effects of those shifts could not actually be felt anywhere in town. This phenomenon had been fascinating. It really had. And Carlos and his team had _totally_ investigated it. For _weeks_!

But they'd never been able to figure anything out. And it had never happened again. And other things had happened, and, well…

Then, a couple days ago, nearly five months later, the instruments at the monitoring station went crazy again.

Carlos had stewed over the new seismological readings for days. He compared them to the old ones. He compared them to normal readings. He researched the geological history of Night Vale, as far as he could with the way town records were kept.

Nothing.

Now, the morning of the third day after the new readings, he decided to take a break from the brick wall he was banging his head against and pick up this week's groceries at the Ralph's. It was his turn to cook tonight. He was thinking empanadas.

Shoving his cart out of the dry goods aisle and into the produce section, Carlos abruptly came face to face with Cecil Palmer. The radio host was apparently doing _his_ grocery shopping as well; a half-filled basket dangled elegantly from the crook of his left elbow, its contents shifting and growling softly.

It was probably a coincidence that he was here. Probably. But boy, was the timing inopportune.

"Oh!" the shorter man said, twining his fingers together and casting his gaze to the ground. "Hello, Carlos." Head slightly lowered, Cecil raised his eyes to Carlos' in a way that looked, well, shy; the corners of his mouth tremulously quested upward.

Carlos felt heat rising to his cheeks. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

For a moment there was silence. Cecil's quavery smile thinned. "Well, I'm glad we ran into each other," he said finally. "We're doing a segment today about the earthquakes. I won't spoil the show for you--let's just say the federal government is taking an interest! Do you have any information you can share?"

Carlos opened his mouth again. Words, or reasonable facsimiles thereof, came out this time. "I--well--err--that is, scientifically speaking, um--"

It had been _five months._ They should have _solved_ it by now.

So many _other_ things had happened, though! They'd had _so many_ things to investigate. Never mind that they hadn't seemed to be able to solve any of _those_ things, either...

"We've just--you know, what with the...err..."

Carlos was suddenly thinking that he hadn't spoken to the radio host since making a joke over the phone that Cecil had taken as truth. And now everyone in town probably thought Carlos was insane.

Maybe it was impossible for Carlos to interact with Cecil Palmer without embarrassing himself.

He looked away from the older man's smiling, expectant face and stared at a display of rainbow gourds beneath a sign boasting 'Now with Twice the Infinity Stones!' He sighed, shaking his head at his wandering thoughts and foolish excuses.

Ugh. He was totally, utterly lame.

Cecil said something else. Probably repeating his question. _Do you have any information you can share?_ thundered in Carlos' head like an accusation. _Well, do you, smart guy?_ He tried to look back at Cecil, but only managed to gaze at a point somewhere over the man's shoulder.

"I'll look at my notes and computer models and see if I can figure out what's going on," he said, blanching inwardly at how sullen his voice sounded. Tightening his fingers around the handle of his shopping cart, Carlos maneuvered it around the radio host and strode away before Cecil could express what was sure to be massive disappointment in his favorite scientist's failure.

~

The new couch was not Carlos' old futon, but it was big and fluffy and only sometimes ate your keys. Dave had really gone all out.

Carlos flopped dejectedly across it upon his return from the Ralph's, flinging his arms up over his head and casting his eyes to the ceiling.

"What's the matter with you?" Rochelle asked, glancing up from where she was examining the (hopefully not undead) corpse of a cat-sized creature with five mouths and three long, whip-like tails.

"Ran into Cecil. He asked me about the earthquakes."

" _Cecil_ , eh?" Jessica said from across the room, reminding Carlos that normally he didn't use Cecil's name aloud, but instead referred to him as 'Radio Guy'. "Did he say anything about--"

" _No he did not mention my hair_ ," Carlos huffed.

" _I was going to say_ did he say anything about the air quality today? It's kind of...speckled." Jessica had taken to studying local meteorology. Night Vale Community Radio's weather reports had turned out to be more useful than any of them had expected, once they figured out how to listen to them properly.

"Oh," Carlos said. "No."

"Did he ask you about evening or weekend plans?"

"Ugh."

"Listen, Carlos," Dave chimed in, "do you want me to speak to him for you? I know we've all been teasing you about him being your boyfriend, but I never thought his little obsession would last this long. And with what happened to that barber..."

A few weeks back Cecil had reported with glee the fate of Telly the barber, whose shop had been vacant since Carlos' unfortunate haircut. The team had taken an immediate road trip to the sand wastes in the Science Van, carting along water and sandwiches. They'd found the man clutching a fistful of Carlos' shorn hair, skin red and cracked from sun exposure. When Telly saw Carlos, he thrust the hair at him, croaking, "Take it back. Take it back." Due to dehydration, it had been impossible to feed the man, and they could only give him little sips of water at a time. It took hours to stabilize him.

An outside observer could easily draw a direct line of inference from Cecil calling out Telly on the air to Telly wandering the sand wastes. But what the rest of the team didn't know was that as Carlos bent over Telly, pressing a cool washcloth to his forehead, the barber had said something else, something that made the bottom of Carlos' stomach seem to fall straight through the ground, plummeting into the depths beneath Night Vale all the way to the mysterious source of those unfelt tectonic shifts.

"You didn't like it," Telly said in a rasping whisper, staring at Carlos with dry, hollow eyes.

Carlos had wanted a bad haircut. But he hadn't told Telly that. He'd lied. Telly had thought he was giving Carlos a haircut he'd like.

Carlos had been arrogant to assume that Telly wasn't an artist, that a barber wouldn't care about his craft the way a stylist did. And arrogance had consequences, especially in Night Vale. If Cecil was guilty, Carlos shared at least the same amount of blame. And it was possible Cecil wasn't guilty at all.

"No," he said, sitting up and scrubbing at his temples. "It's okay. I can handle it."

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Okay," he said, "but if you change your mind, I've got your back."

"Maybe he's starting to fall for him," Jessica put in mercilessly.

"Or he just likes the attention," Akiko added, looking simultaneously shocked and delighted at her own audacity.

Carlos supposed he was glad he provided a source of amusement for everyone.

~

"Looking for a snack? Try wheat, or a wheat by-product! Dinner? Wheat and/or its by-product! Trying to patch a leaky roof? We have just the thing for you, and we also have its by-products!"

Today's edition of Cecil's show was apparently sponsored by wheat lobbyists.

"Do we have anything _scientific_ we could give him to talk about?" Keyon said through a mouthful of sub sandwich. "This broadcast is shaping up to be pretty weak."

"Still nothing on the earthquakes...or lack thereof," Carlos said morosely. "Anybody else?"

The rest of the team shook their heads.

"Well, then, I guess Cecil's show will just be boring today--" Carlos broke off as Keyon suddenly started shrieking. "Oh, _that's_ new."

~

Carlos had by now heard Cecil experience mortally dangerous situations more times than he could count.

...okay, that was a lie. He had counted. It was 86 times. Danger seemed to find Cecil--or Cecil himself found danger--quite a lot, even for Night Vale. And yet the radio host always seemed to come through it. It was reassuring.

Still, it wasn't like Carlos had grown _accustomed_ to Cecil being in peril. And so as soon as he heard the words "the council has vehemently denied this charge by gibbering, howling, and knocking over microphones," Carlos was off his stool and shouting at the radio, "You've done it again, you idiot!"

"Oh, dear," Cecil said as static and emergency tones broke into the broadcast. He spoke next with obvious effort and perhaps pain. "I apologize, listeners." The radio host grated out something about a lack of air, and eye movement? Gooey stuff? And then the radio went to dead air.

Alone in the lab, Carlos and Jessica looked at each other in silence until suddenly there was Cecil again, voice completely normal. "Thank you. These problems have been corrected."

"Ugh," Carlos sighed, falling back onto his stool.

"Maybe Dave and the others did something," Jessica mused. "Though it wouldn't be good to get on anyone's bad side." The team had gotten pretty good at self-censorship; Carlos knew Jessica meant the council without her having to say it.

He nodded, but Cecil was speaking again before he had the chance to reply: "You should _not_ eat wheat or wheat by-products! ...say several frantic scientists waving clipboards in our studio."

"Sounds like they're there, at least," he said. The word was out about the snakes. All was well.

That is, until the snakes turned into malevolent spirits.

~

Carlos and Jessica were huddled beneath a lean-to of animal bone and mud, disassembling a psychokinetic energy meter in the hopes of reverse-engineering it into a supernatural ranged weapon. Cecil's show issued forth undaunted from the radio in the corner, his voice smooth and calm as always. It was nice background noise. Soothing. Carlos almost didn't notice when Cecil said his name; Jessica elbowed him in the ribs.

"We asked Carlos about our inability to experience tectonic shifts. Carlos--lovely Carlos--had previously recorded other massive tremor activity underneath our city. His response was a few seconds of stammering, followed by a sigh and slow headshake. His eyes were distant, distracted, yet beautiful."

Carlos' mouth dropped open.

"I asked him where he got his shirt. It fit him so well. He said he would look at his notes and computer models and see if he could figure out what was going on. I don't know if he listens to me sometimes."

"Err." Carlos glanced down at his shirt, which _was_ nice, silvery and smooth and fitted. It was his favorite, a thrift store find that he'd had tailored. He normally wore it on dates or to clubs; it was a testament to just how far behind he was on his laundry that he was wearing it to work. "I…don't remember him asking that?"

Jessica didn't hear him; she was too busy laughing.

~

Ultimately, Carlos and his team did not solve the wheat and wheat by-products disaster, but simply rode it out alongside everyone else in town. Yet another failure on a growing list. The city council had apparently done something to cause the specters to vanish, and the upshot was that there would now be no more gluten in Night Vale. Ever.

So much for the empanadas.

They avoided quarantine on the same technicality that Carlos imagined kept most Night Vale citizens free: while every team member had come into contact with wheat that day, none of them had touched it in snake or spirit form. Keyon had not actually been holding his sandwich when it turned into a snake, and Jessica had successfully dodged the mist spirits. 

Now they were all back in the lab, processing the day's events. It was past time for dinner, and many of the groceries Carlos had _just_ purchased had disappeared, and he was hungry and tired and frustrated.

"Screw it," he said dramatically, sliding off his stool. "We're done for the day. You guys can head back to the house. I'll get some takeout."

Carlos strode across the parking lot, not realizing his folly until he'd made it all the way inside and to the counter at Big Rico's. Big Rico's _Pizza_. What on earth was he going to order from a pizza place that wouldn't have wheat in it?

But then he looked at the menu board. "Ah," he said. "Um…six stewed tomato and cheese wad bowls, please." It did not sound awesome. But it sounded better than gluten-free pizza.

He turned away from the counter to find a place to wait on his order, and a small wave caught his eye. Cecil Palmer was seated in an otherwise empty booth in the corner. Carlos hesitated, then walked over.

"Err, I found it at a thrift store," he said without preamble. Cecil blinked. "The shirt," Carlos rushed to add. "But I had to have it tailored. It was a little big in places."

"I see," Cecil said. He smiled. "Your tailor did a wonderful job."

Carlos swallowed. "Um. Thanks."

Cecil cocked his head to one side, looking as though he was debating asking a question. Finally he said, "I was a little worried when you didn't come yourself, to warn us about the snakes. I thought…" He trailed off. "Well. I'm glad you're all right."

"Oh," Carlos said. Of _course_. He didn't really want to continue this conversation, but he had to wait for his bowls of gloop, and he couldn't just walk away, and he was starting to feel awkward just standing there. Carlos glanced around nervously, then slid into the seat across from Cecil. "I…was busy."

But of course that wasn't why he'd stayed behind at all. He shifted uncomfortably, and in the cramped space of the booth his knee bumped Cecil's, and an electric charge shot up through his leg and straight to his gut. Cecil's hands, which had been methodically tearing a napkin into infinitesimal strips, stilled on the table.

"I…I see," Cecil said, and Carlos could hear the feigned normalcy in his voice.

This was bad, this was very bad, what was he even doing?

"Anyway, I'll let you know as soon as we know something. About the earthquakes," Carlos said, and cursed himself for bringing up the very topic he'd been trying to avoid.

But rather than disappointment, a smile blossomed onto Cecil's face. "I'm sure you will," he said.

Carlos stared into Cecil's adoring gaze and finally knew what it was, what it meant. Cecil didn't know Carlos at all. He didn't understand Carlos one bit. He liked Carlos' hair. He liked Carlos' teeth. He liked Carlos' body. And he liked the idea of Carlos, man of science.

This was a man with a crush.

Carlos had _known_ this. But somehow he hadn't truly _comprehended_ it until now. He'd been worried, for some reason, about what Cecil thought of him, but now he understood that Cecil was going to think Carlos was amazing no matter how many times he failed. He wouldn't be disappointed that Carlos couldn't figure out the earthquakes. He wouldn't be disappointed that Carlos had lied to Telly the barber. He would think everything Carlos did was wonderful.

Perfect.

The idea churned bitterly in Carlos' stomach.

He was relieved when the tense silence that had drawn up between them was broken by the cashier calling his name. Carlos slipped out of the booth, gave Cecil a brief nod, and went to collect his takeout.

~

Carlos was exhausted. He was also wide awake.

Maybe he hadn't come down from the adrenaline high that had gotten him through the plague of wheat and wheat by-products.

Maybe it was something else.

All he knew was his eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, and he couldn't get comfortable in his bed. Carlos threw off the covers, sat up, stood up, stalked around the room. Before he really knew what he was doing, he was out the door, down the moonlit hall and heading up the stairs.

Keyon's room was on the third floor, next to Jessica's. The two had won the biggest rooms in the house in a game of Farscape Trivia. Carlos hesitated at the door, then rapped softly and eased it open.

Moonlight poured in through the gable window, casting a silver bank of light across Keyon's bed. Light snoring emanated from the general vicinity of the pillow.

Carlos entered and shut the door.

For a long moment he stood there, an intruder frozen at the moment of trespass. Then he slowly moved toward the bed. "Keyon," he said. He felt as though he was watching himself from a distance. His hand reached out. His fingertips brushed lightly across Keyon's cheek.

Keyon shifted, groaned softly. His eyes struggled open. "Hrng?" he said. "Carlos?"

Then Carlos saw himself leaning in, even as his brain was suddenly screaming _What are you doing, you idiot?!_ It would be good. Carlos was lonely. That's all this was. He would feel better…

"What are you _doing_ , you _idiot_?!" It wasn't Carlos' brain this time. Keyon splayed his hand across Carlos' face and shoved him roughly away.

Carlos staggered back, stunned, as Keyon swung his legs off the bed and shot to his feet. "Are you _insane_?" Keyon hissed. "We are _coworkers_. _Colleagues_. I thought you _respected_ me."

"Oh. Oh god," Carlos said. He sank to the floor.

"I almost _died_ today. And you try to take _advantage_? What the _hell_ , Carlos?"

"Oh. Shit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Get out of my room, please," Keyon said, folding his arms over his chest. Backlit by the moon, Carlos couldn't see the man's face, but he could feel the heat of a thousand supernovae coming from his eyes.

Carlos scrambled to his feet. "I'm sorry," he said again, miserably.

"Just go."

Carlos went.


	5. Celestial Just Deserts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretending it never happened turns out not to be the best plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one starts after "Wheat and Wheat By-Products" and ends with "The Candidate."

The next morning, Keyon was gone by the time the others stumbled downstairs for breakfast. It happened that sometimes one or more of them would have a eureka moment in the middle of the night, so no one thought much of it until they all got to the lab and Keyon wasn't there either.

Carlos hadn't felt like eating anything, and he was glad, because now he felt like throwing up.

"This is really weird," Akiko said. "Let me text him."

Rochelle and Jessica moved to the long table at the back of the lab and set to making notes on the progress of the samples they were growing in Petri dishes there. Dave started resetting his Newtonian physics testing apparatus, basically a giant Rube Goldberg device he used to see which laws of physics were in force on any particular day. Carlos stood frozen at the lab door, trying not to stare at Akiko as she tapped a message into her phone.

A response came almost immediately, buzzing the phone in Akiko's hand. "Oh," she said as she scanned it. "He's not coming in today. Says he left you a message, Carlos."

"...right." Carlos discovered he was capable of motion, and so he moved, walking over to his computer and logging in. Sure enough, there was an email in his work account, unsigned and with no salutation: _Taking the day off. I'll be back to work tomorrow._ "Oh, _good_ ," Carlos sighed. He couldn't quite say he was _relieved_ , but... "Err. I mean, that's fine. He'll be back tomorrow."

Akiko cocked her head to one side, but said nothing. Carlos could feel Dave's eyes from across the room. At least Jessica and Rochelle were too engrossed in science to notice anything.

~

Carlos spent the morning at his computer, staring at seismological readings that made no sense and not actually thinking about them at all. Around noon, a large hand clapped him on the shoulder.

"Carlos," Dave said, "it's been way too long since we had a guys' lunch. It's too bad Keyon isn't here, but what say you and I go somewhere?"

"...I don't think--" Carlos began, but the look on Dave's face shut him up. "Err. Okay. Sure."

In Dave's car, Carlos mindlessly turned on the radio. "You will be set upon by a foul beast," Cecil intoned tinnily through the ancient sedan's mediocre speakers. "A beast you recognize. What once was safe for you will be safe no longer. But in this rare case, you will be strong and prevail." A pause. "Taurus. You will make a bad decision, Taurus. A very bad decision. You are _so stupid_ , Taurus. What are you thinking? Nothing will ever be the same after what you do today. You--oh. Intern Stacy has just handed me a note. I apologize, listeners. Those were _yesterday_ 's horoscopes..."

Carlos jabbed at the dial, silencing the radio host. Did he...did he somehow _know_?

Behind the wheel, Dave said nothing, and his eyes never left the road.

They ended up at Taco Bell. Carlos wondered if that was some sort of punishment, but he didn't dare ask. Instead of parking and going inside, Dave went through the drive-thru and ordered an assortment of hard tacos and burritos with corn tortillas, then pulled into an empty spot toward the back of the lot.

"Okay," Dave said, putting the car in park and finally turning to look at Carlos, "what happened?"

Carlos flinched at Dave's gaze, and his own eyes went to the vinyl upholstery of his seat. "Last night. I. Um. I went into Keyon's room and I sort of--I tried to kiss him." His hands balled in his lap; he stared miserably at his knuckles.

"Shit, Carlos," Dave said, but he didn't sound surprised. That somehow made Carlos feel even worse. " _Why?_ "

"Because I'm a _moron_ ," Carlos huffed, throwing his head back against the headrest and his eyes up to the drooping lining of the car's ceiling. Seriously, this thing was a wreck.

"I'm going to need the actual reason if we're going to fix this," Dave said.

Carlos fisted his hands in his hair. "I don't even _know_ , Dave. I couldn't sleep. Maybe I was still hyped up from the wheat thing."

"Do you have feelings for Keyon?"

Carlos sighed and looked back down at his knees. "Not any more than I've ever had for anyone else," he said. "I mean, no. Not really. He's cute. But...no."

"I guess we should be thankful for small blessings," Dave said, unwrapping a taco.

"Come again?"

"If you had feelings for him, there would really be nothing we could do at this point but let him go and bring in a new scientist. Or, you know, replace _you_."

"Oh, god." Neither of those outcomes was good. Firing Keyon over something Carlos had done was unconscionable. But Carlos didn't want to leave, either.

Wait. He didn't want to leave.

"Huh," Carlos said.

"What?" Dave raised an eyebrow.

"I think I figured it out. I think I was...thinking about giving up." Carlos reached over and grabbed a burrito, set to work unwrapping it. "I've been so _frustrated_ lately. I haven't made _any_ discoveries, just uncovered new questions. And that's _fun_ , but it's so much _better_ when I _solve_ something! Oh man." Carlos took a huge bite of burrito but was too excited to stop talking. "Dave," he said around the mouthful, "I think I just solved _myself_!"

Dave gazed at him. He didn't look particularly pleased. "That's great, Carlos," he said finally in a barely patient voice. "Fantastic. Can we get back to the issue at hand, please?"

Carlos swallowed the bite. "Um. Right. Yeah."

"What are you going to do when Keyon comes back?"

"Err...pretend it never happened?"

Dave sighed and took a bite of his taco.

Carlos considered the problem. "Okay," he said. "I already apologized, but maybe I should apologize again?"

"You're only thinking about _yourself_ here. What you do should depend on _Keyon_ ," Dave said. "If he seems open to an apology, apologize. If it seems like he wants to pretend it didn't happen, pretend it didn't happen." He paused. "And whatever you do, for the love of all that is good and holy, do _not_ tell him _why_ it happened or how excited you are to have figured out your own brain."

Carlos was quiet for a moment. "So how do I know what he wants me to say?"

If Dave sighed much more, Carlos thought absently, he might be in danger of accidentally releasing his soul into the void. "Okay," Dave said, rubbing at his temples. "Look, I'll help. I'll watch his reaction to seeing you, and I'll let you know if it looks like he wants an apology."

Carlos grinned. He couldn't help it. He knew what had been making him so upset, and the cure was _obviously_ more science! And he had a plan to make Keyon feel better, so that was good too. "Thanks, Dave!" he said.

Dave chuckled through a frown; it was an odd sight. "Sure," he said.

Carlos turned his attention to his burrito, ravenous.

~

Keyon returned the next day as promised, and he didn't seem to want to talk about it at all. So Carlos kept his mouth shut, and they all went back to work, and everything was pretty much normal. Everything was fine. Well, Keyon didn't joke around with him anymore. Or talk to him much at all, really. And most of the team's teasing of Carlos stopped...which was kind of annoying, actually. The lab seemed much quieter now.

Days apparently passed. They didn't seem to. Lying in bed at night, it still felt to Carlos like the thing with Keyon had happened the previous day. But science and radio shows had filled the interim. In truth, the science kind of blurred together--dozens of experiments, each of which lasted days or weeks or months. Who knew, really? He had notes, but the dates on his notes didn't always make sense, like he'd been writing them half asleep, or he'd gone back later to try and remember when something happened and ultimately just scribbled down the first date he thought of.

Cecil's shows seemed to run together too. Also, sometimes they seemed very short, and other times they seemed to last for days.

A couple weeks after The Incident, Carlos was trying to build a ghost trap--he wasn't sure why this idea had never occurred to him before; he loved _Ghostbusters_ \--when Cecil started waxing poetic about the "dynamic" looks of a five-headed dragon named Hiram McDaniels. In what seemed like far more detail than was really necessary, Cecil described what he called McDaniels' raw power, his intensity, his piercing eyes. "I can certainly see how he charmed his way out of an arrest. He must never get tickets! What a guy," Cecil concluded admiringly.

Carlos scrunched up his nose at the radio. "Whatever," he huffed. "Is my hair chopped liver now?"

That comment really should have inspired _some_ sort of reaction from the team. But the lab was silent save for Cecil, who moved on to read a press release about a mysterious party at the abandoned missile silo. Carlos pouted, but refrained from going to the couch to sulk.

"Carlos," Akiko said suddenly in a flat voice, "it's your turn to feed the pigs."

He looked up, retracting his lower lip. "I know," he said. "I was going to do it later."

"Let's just get it over with." Akiko jerked her head toward the door, started moving in that direction.

"You don't have to help, it's my turn--" Carlos trailed off as Akiko shot a devastating glare over her shoulder at him.

"I'm just going to make sure you don't mess anything up," she said.

The rest of the team studiously ignored everything that was happening. Carlos smiled nervously and scratched at the back of his head. "Okay."

Akiko was silent until they had rounded the exterior of the building and reached the pigs' corral out back. Then she wheeled, jabbing a finger up at Carlos' chest, and hissed, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Carlos was tall--6'2". Akiko was very much _not_ tall, and in no way intimidating. Normally, anyway. Now, though, the sheer force of her rage caused Carlos to instinctively recoil. "What?" was all he could manage.

"How can you be so flippant?" Akiko said in a fierce whisper. "How can you just pretend like nothing happened? You crossed the _line_ , Carlos. You're the _team leader_. That's _sexual harassment_. Practically _assault_. And it's like you don't even care."

Carlos blinked. "Um," he said.

"Keyon _told me_ , Carlos. I'm his best friend, of course he told me."

"...oh."

Akiko's face was as hard as her voice. "We are not here to amuse you or flatter you or _have sex with you when you're lonely_. We're here to do _science_."

"I...I never..."

"Ha! Like _hell_ you never. You _always_. Our lives do not revolve around you, Carlos!"

"Akiko," came a voice from behind Carlos. Keyon's voice.

Akiko cursed.

"I asked you not to say anything," Keyon said, moving toward his friend--but giving Carlos a wide berth. Carlos widened the gap automatically, hugging his elbows.

"He just really pissed me off," Akiko muttered.

Keyon sighed. He turned toward Carlos, but didn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.

Carlos' throat went dry. "Wait," he said. "No, no, you can't--you aren't--" He hugged his elbows tighter. " _I'm_ the one who..." He floundered.

"Let's just...get back to work," Keyon said, turning his gaze to the ground.

"I thought...I thought you didn't want to talk about it. So I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to do, but Dave said I should follow your lead, and I thought it would be okay if you didn't want to talk about it and I didn't talk about it." Carlos' babble ended in a rush.

"It's not--" Keyon took a breath, hands balling into fists at his sides. "It's not _okay_. Nothing is _okay_. That was...that was really weird, Carlos. I wake up and you're...over me, like that."

Carlos felt as though his insides were being slowly, methodically carved out. He let go of his elbows and scratched his fingers back through his hair.

" _Why_?" Keyon said suddenly. "Why would you _do_ that?"

Carlos swallowed. "Um. Dave said...I shouldn't tell you why."

"This is so messed up," Akiko fumed. Keyon glanced at her, and she fell silent.

Crunching footsteps heralded Dave's timely approach. Jessica and Rochelle lingered along the wall of the lab behind him. "Everything all right out here?"

Carlos didn't know how to answer that question, so he said nothing. Keyon's mouth compressed to a thin line. Akiko narrowed her eyes at Dave and said, "No."

"Look," Dave said, "I gave Carlos some advice. Maybe it was bad advice. Can we all go back inside and talk about it? At this point it's affecting the entire group. We need to decide what to do."

Sometimes Dave seemed so much more like the team leader than Carlos had ever felt. He always seemed to know what to do. Carlos had seniority, but Dave had...something else. Like a commanding presence. People respected him.

The team shuffled back inside in loose clumps, Rochelle and Jessica together, then Carlos, then Dave, and finally Keyon and Akiko. "Keyon, you don't have to stay," Dave said quietly as they clustered near the couch.

"If you're going to be talking about me, I'd rather hear it," Keyon answered, sounding more confident than he looked.

Dave nodded and gestured Keyon and Akiko onto the couch. The rest of them pulled up lab stools.

"So. Not everyone knows what's going on. Carlos, do you want me to explain?"

No, Carlos didn't want Dave to explain. He wanted to run outside to his hybrid and drive far, far away.

Words wouldn't come. He nodded miserably.

"Couple weeks ago, Carlos wasn't quite himself. He wasn't thinking rationally. He couldn't sleep." Dave paused. Carlos stared at his shoes. "So, he, ah, went looking for Keyon."

"He went in Keyon's room while Keyon was asleep," Akiko corrected. "Looking for sex."

Gasps and whispers broke out from Jessica and Rochelle's vicinity. Carlos couldn't hear what they were saying, and was glad. His eyes burned holes in his Jimmy Choo Tokyo black suede and glitter high-tops, which perfectly matched the silver shirt and black suspenders he was wearing under his lab coat, not that anyone had noticed.

"Carlos," Dave said, "I hate to put you on the spot like this, but you need to say something."

"I didn't..." Carlos propped his feet up on the highest rung of the stool, curled himself over his knees. "It was stupid. I messed up." He couldn't raise his eyes. "I just wish everything could go back to the way it was before."

He heard Akiko fling herself backwards into the couch cushions. She groaned in disgust. "You can't just _do_ something like that to someone and expect everything to be normal!"

"Wait, what did he do, exactly?" Jessica asked.

Yet again, Carlos felt like he was going to throw up.

"That's not really relevant," Dave said, glancing at Keyon.

"I think he touched my face," Keyon said quietly. "I was half asleep. I opened my eyes, and..."

He trailed off, kneading his hands together in his lap.

"I was trying to kiss him, but I stopped, I stopped right away," Carlos said desperately. "Ugh, it was so _stupid_!" He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his palms into his forehead.

Akiko leaned forward. "Carlos," she said, and her voice was so low and menacing that he couldn't help but look up at her, "I know you think you're adorable, but you're not. You're not cute. You're not funny. You're a selfish _jerk_."

Carlos really, _really_ wanted to look away from her furious eyes, but found that he couldn't.

"This whole time, you've just been whining about how you feel. Have you even thought about how _Keyon_ feels? Are you even _sorry_?"

"I--of course! I said I was sorry!"

"Not today, you haven't."

Surely that wasn't right. Surely he'd said it. "Come on," he said weakly. "I must have..."

"No," Keyon said shortly.

"But that night I did," Carlos pressed. "I guess just not today. But I did say I was sorry. I'm sorry," he tacked on lamely.

Rochelle shifted on her stool, pointedly not looking at Carlos. "Can I just say this is pretty creepy? We're supposed to feel safe in our own rooms. We're supposed to be able to trust each other. We've always been able to before."

"I'm sure Carlos has no intention of ever doing anything like this again," Dave said. He glanced at Carlos, and Carlos shook his head violently. "We need to figure out how we're going to deal with this. We need to be able to trust each other, as a team."

"We've always made a good team," Jessica said. "And Carlos is pretty brilliant. He's saved all of our lives more than once. It's kind of nice to have him around."

She gave Akiko a pointed look; the other woman sighed, rolled her eyes, and grumbled, "Well, I guess we can all just lock our doors."

 _It's not like I'm interested in you anyway_ , Carlos managed to _not_ say, frowning at the floor. He let his feet drop to the lower rung again, propping his hands on the edge of the stool. "Keyon," he said, not quite managing to meet the man's eyes, "I am really sorry. I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry I didn't say anything. Can we...can we still work as a team?"

The corners of Keyon's mouth twitched, as if he didn't quite know what to say. Finally he nodded.

~

Cecil's show was still on when Carlos climbed into bed that night a few hours after a particularly noisy sunset. The radio host's voice dipped low, thrumming, as Carlos curled himself into the covers.

"Now? It is dark. It is quiet. Just you and me, dear listener. Just my voice, traveling from this microphone, traveling silent and immediate across sleepy homes and lost souls to your ears."

Again, Carlos felt that thrill, the thrill he was starting to expect and yet surprised him every time. Like spiders ghosting across his skin.

"You curl under a blanket, protecting your body from the world--excepting a few clever spiders--"

Oh, those were _actual spiders_. Carlos let out a strangled yelp, tearing back the blanket and swiping frantically at his stomach and legs.

"--and you are listening, hearing me."

He thought the spiders were gone. He hoped the spiders were gone. Carlos curled back up as Cecil continued to speak.

"Sleep heavily and know that I am here with you now. The past is gone, and cannot harm you anymore. And while the future is fast coming for you, it always flinches first, and settles in as the gentle present."

 _The past is gone_ , Carlos thought, and wished it was true.

"This now, this us? We can cope with that. We can do this together, you and I, drowsily, but comfortably."

His bed seemed very empty for some reason. Carlos didn't register what Cecil said next. He was debating how he wanted to deal with the strange sense of loss he was feeling when suddenly the radio was deafening him with the sounds of car alarms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize those are women's shoes but they are _perfect_ , so.


	6. A Massive Time Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos is drifting apart from his team when he makes a terrifying discovery. Also, there are outfits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one starts just before "The Man in the Tan Jacket" and ends just before "The Phone Call."

It was New Year's Eve, and Carlos was leaning against a huge pile of broken concrete and rebar, staring up into a sky that at the moment was approximately half void, half stars. He'd rather be taking readings about _that_ than hanging around here by himself, nursing the horrible cocktail Jessica had brought him and feeling like some sort of creeper.

Had the team _wanted_ him to feel like a creeper? Was that why they'd pestered him to come?

New Year's Eve, like pretty much every other celebration in the universe, was for _couples_. Or hookups.

Carlos sighed.

Rochelle and Jessica were a few yards away, chatting and laughing with a couple of younger guys wearing Night Vale Community College sweatshirts. Dave had disappeared somewhere with a server from Big Rico's. At least Keyon and Akiko, sitting on a short pile of rubble looking bored, were probably as miserable as Carlos was...

Carlos closed his eyes and muttered "Ugh" under his breath. He didn't want Keyon, or even Akiko, to be miserable. It was fine if he was miserable by himself.

He pushed off from the wall of cracked concrete and made for the line of food trucks out in the sagebrush, losing himself in the crowd. He wouldn't be surprised if all of Night Vale was here; the empty expanse of desert near the 'NOTHING IS HERE. NOTHING WAS EVER HERE' sign was packed with people and non-person-identifying beings.

Just as Carlos reached the drink table, he heard a familiar, resonant voice grit out " _Fine_ " in what sounded like utter exasperation. Glancing around, he spotted Cecil Palmer...or he supposed that was Cecil Palmer, but the man looked completely different. Carlos ducked behind a yakitori truck and appraised Cecil from around the corner.

Gone were the dress shoes, the unassuming slacks, the button-down dress shirt, the tie. Now the radio host was wearing black ballet flats, vibrantly patterned glow-in-the-dark leggings, a long white tunic, and a cluster of neon glow necklaces. The tunic was cut low, a long open triangle offering occasional flashes of Cecil's bare chest.

Cecil was not really the sort of guy who could pull this look off. And yet, somehow--

"I'll get the drinks," Cecil huffed at the man standing next to him. There was a man standing next to Cecil, Carlos realized belatedly. "You can get the blanket ready, or _whatever_."

"Sure!" the man said, in a cheerful tone that was wholly incongruous, especially given the way Cecil was now rolling his eyes.

"Orange milk, please!" piped up a young voice, and Carlos realized there was someone else there too, a little girl. She beamed at Cecil, then looked up at the other man. "Dad, can you help? I want to go that way a little."

"Sure, sweetheart," the man said, grabbing the handles of the girl's chair and helping her work the wheels across the sand.

" _Ugh_ ," Cecil mouthed but did not voice, then wiped his face completely clean of malice and smiled at the child. "I'll be right back, Janice."

Carlos slid out of sight behind the food truck as Cecil strode in his direction. _What_ was even going on? Who was that guy? Who was that little girl?

"Hi, John," Cecil said, coming to a stop at the drink table. "I need an orange milk, a white wine spritzer, and the nastiest drink you have. Something really gross."

"Let me guess," the man behind the table said in a pleasant drawl. "Steve?"

"Of all the people to spend New Year's Eve with, _Steve Carlsberg_ ," Cecil fumed.

So _that_ was Steve Carlsberg. Carlos remembered Cecil mentioning the guy on the radio. Something about how he couldn't be bothered to replace his hubcaps. And something else, about the PTA maybe? All that really stood out in Carlos' mind was the sheer disdain in Cecil's voice when he spoke of the man.

"Guess there won't be any soul-merging for _you_ tonight," John said.

"Certainly _not_ ," Cecil sniffed.

"Unless...?"

Carlos could hear a smile in Cecil's voice. "Thank you, but no. There's only one person I'd want to do that with right now."

"Fair enough," John said. "Here you go: orange milk, white wine spritzer, and I think this is tar."

" _Perfect_ ," Cecil said. "Thanks, John." He gathered up the drinks and made his way back to where Steve Carlsberg had unrolled a quilt across the sand and set a cooler along one edge. Cecil placed the drinks on the cooler; then, together, he and Steve helped Janice out of her chair and onto the blanket.

"Just in time!" Steve grinned as the first of the night's fireworks streaked into the air. In seconds, sparkling tendrils were erupting across the sky. "Oooh!" Janice said.

Cecil and Steve settled onto the quilt on either side of Janice, lying back to watch the fireworks, and Carlos suddenly felt like an intruder. This seemed like, well, a family scene. Like maybe Janice was Cecil and Steve's daughter. And their relationship was over, but they still spent time together for her sake.

And maybe Steve Carlsberg still loved Cecil, even though Cecil couldn't stand him.

And maybe Cecil's overly dramatic hatred of Steve was denial. Maybe he was still in love too.

Carlos downed the rest of his horrid cocktail and walked over to set the glass on the drink table in front of who he now realized was John Peters--you know, the farmer.

"Surely _you're_ not here alone tonight?" John said.

They'd never actually met, so Carlos supposed this was a compliment. Maybe a come-on. Carlos glanced down at his ensemble--a clingy navy blue shirt with a wide neck, tight black jeans, a pair of somewhat emo black combat boots, and his clubbing lab coat.

"Sort of," he said, wondering if his outfit made him look desperate. "Not really. I came with my fr--my team."

Well, _that_ was an interesting bit of self-correction.

"If you're looking for a partner for midnight soul-merging, I might know a guy," John remarked in a languorous, infinitely casual voice. Carlos literally could not fathom what the farmer meant. Especially since he had no idea what 'midnight soul-merging' was.

He didn't feel like asking, either, which wasn't very scientific of him, but whatever.

"Uh, no. But thanks," he said, to be polite.

John let out what might have been a sigh, and his eyes wandered beyond Carlos to Cecil and Steve. He shook his head and turned back to Carlos. "Get you anything else?" he asked.

Carlos was tempted to lose himself in alcohol the way so many of his fellow students had back in undergrad. Very tempted, if he was completely honest with himself. But as always, he refrained. "Yeah, I'll take an Orange Crush."

The scientist handed over a known quantity of fiat cash and was passed a cold soda can in exchange. He took it and made his way back to the team's gathering spot, oblivious to the brilliant explosions overhead.

~

The next day, it was back to work as usual. Well, they'd started the day a little late. Apparently Jessica and Rochelle had soul-merged with each other at midnight without realizing it, and could now faintly read one another's thoughts. It had left them a little strung out. And Dave had a massive hangover. So they were a few hours late getting back to their projects.

Carlos reassigned Akiko to study the effects of Jessica and Rochelle's soul-merging. He'd do it himself, but he wasn't sure he could tolerate their giddy laughter every five minutes. They kept looking at each other and blushing and giggling.

Instead, Carlos set to work trying to organize the team's results. It was about time he wrote a paper about _something_. Maybe the passage of time, he thought self-deprecatingly, since he seemed to lose track of it so often these days.

As usual, Cecil's show was on. The radio host had just finished remarking on last night's fireworks and was moving to a different segment.

"Surely you have noticed," Cecil said seriously. "There's a man in a tan jacket." Carlos looked up from the mess of notes in front of him. Ah. Another stranger in town. The new hotness, he supposed with a small frown.

Cecil hadn't said much about Carlos or his hair lately.

However, there didn't seem to be much to say about this new person, either. And Cecil certainly wasn't _gushing_. If anything, he seemed confused. Carlos let the show fade back into the background; it didn't catch his attention again until suddenly he realized Cecil had been spinning elaborate theories about the civilization under the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex for several minutes.

"Where is he even _getting_ this stuff?" Carlos muttered.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you care for your community, your town, your Night Vale--like I do--you will arm yourselves. You will rally your neighbors to militia."

"What," Carlos said.

"You will point fingers at those who do not wish to fight and have them rounded up into pens. This is no time for the weak. We are at a presumptive war with a projected enemy whom we cannot see, or even be certain of, but who are probably _bloodthirsty giants_."

"You are just _making things up_ ," Carlos moaned.

"They know we are here, and it seems somebody talked. Who was it, Night Vale? Was it _Steve Carlsberg_? Did _Steve Carlsberg_ talk? Maybe a group of _good_ citizens should go have a _chat_ with Steve and find out what he's been saying, and to whom."

...okay, so maybe Cecil _wasn't_ in love with Steve Carlsberg. Carlos felt a sardonic smile twitching at his lips and banished it immediately.

As the radio host moved on other news, Carlos returned to his work feeling curiously warm and light. It was different, after the past several weeks. It was nice.

It didn't last, though. This was a mess. Some of the notes had been written by pointer finger in a sloppy scrawl. Some of them had been rendered in embossed Morse code. A few of them were printouts, which were much easier to deal with. But compiling it all and drawing conclusions was going to be difficult without being able to, you know, quickly jot notes in margins.

Night Vale just couldn't let anything be easy.

Carlos smiled grimly to himself. Well, he'd show Night Vale. He'd beat this. He'd--

"The city council has temporarily lifted their ban on pens and pencils, so that citizens can help law enforcement on this matter," came Cecil's voice from the radio.

Activity in the lab abruptly ceased. The team turned, all of them, to gape at one another in astonishment.

And then they were cheering and shouting.

"Oh my god, _find the pens now_ ," Carlos gasped, flying off his stool and diving for the supply cabinet.

Within moments, the lab was filled with the sound of furious scribbling, as six frantic scientists took advantage of what might be their only chance to write anything down ever.

~

No lapse of the ban on writing utensils could possibly be long enough. This one had been brutally short. Sighing, Carlos packed pens, pencils, markers, and highlighters away in a shoebox labeled 'FORBIDDEN: DO NOT TOUCH' and stuffed the contraband back into the supply cabinet.

"We should look into the wording of the ban more," Keyon said thoughtfully as Carlos secured the cabinet doors. "Maybe there's something _else_ we can use."

"Yeah!" Carlos agreed, raising his head, his face a mirror of Keyon's hopeful expression. Then he blinked, realizing they were smiling at each other. Keyon, looking slightly embarrassed, turned his face away.

Carlos' smile faded, and he turned away too.

"Um," he said. "It's not--I'm not like Radio Guy, I'm not...creeping."

Keyon slid his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "Okay," he said.

"I'm not thinking about you...like that."

"That's good."

Carlos didn't know what else to say. Silence stretched out between them until finally Keyon moved back to his workstation.

~

Carlos had read a few studies indicating that deeply affecting experiences could bring people closer together. Shared pain especially seemed to forge deep bonds.

Regaining access to pens and pencils had seemed like a step in that direction--there was simply no time for awkwardness when there were so many scientific notes to take. But that experience hadn't been painful; it had been happy. And it ultimately hadn't been enough. Once the ban on writing utensils was reinstated, things had pretty much gone back to the way they'd been for weeks now.

It would take something drastic to erase what Carlos had done, assuming that was even possible.

Street Cleaning Day, therefore, was one hell of a missed opportunity. Carlos' team had ridden out the terror huddled in the secret basement space under Big Rico's. Carlos, however, had been at the monitoring station that day. Safe and sound, but alone.

They'd all survived, but they hadn't survived _together_. If anything, the five scientists now had camaraderie with each other that Carlos could never be a part of.

It was really annoying. So annoying, in fact, that when the team decided to go to Mission Grove Park and have a picnic one Sunday, Carlos begged off. He knew that was counterproductive, knew he should go, knew he should _try_...but he was just so tired of it all.

"No, you guys go. I'm not feeling great," he said, which was true, though it referred to his emotional state more than his physical condition. Dave had given him a brief questioning glance, but he hadn't pressed--really, Dave hadn't bothered with Carlos much at all since New Year's. It was probably due to the Big Rico's server he was dating, but like everything else, it was still annoying.

Carlos didn't really feel like going to the lab, but nothing on Netflix seemed interesting either. He sat on the couch in the living room of their Old Town Night Vale rental house and tapped listlessly away at his laptop.

Well, there was _something_ he could do. That backburnered time project wasn't going to solve itself. Carlos sighed and opened the 'What Is Time, Even' folder on his desktop.

He pulled up the spreadsheet he'd made indexing the team's various reports. He'd copied the file into this project because of the timestamp anomalies. Scanning over the timeline, he concurred with himself from a couple weeks ago that the dates didn't make any sense. Which was great and all, but he didn't have anything to compare to.

Or _did_ he?

Ugh, the house was way too quiet. Carlos needed someone to talk to. But nobody was here, and there was literally no one to call.

"I'll just record some notes," he said into the empty room, and he opened the voice memo app on his phone.

"Sunday, February 3, 2013. I think I've hit upon a way to evaluate the time discrepancies in my team's research notes.

"When we first arrived in Night Vale, our computer clocks stopped automatically synching with Coordinated Universal Time. I didn't realize this had happened until I was in the middle of compiling our research. But I _did_ manually synchronize all the lab's computers to my radio watch last Monday, which means I have a baseline for this past week's notes. I have timestamped logs of who was working on what project when, so I should be able to compare those to the finger scrawled notes that were typed up later. The times should roughly match. If they don't, I can assume something is wrong with the notes taken by hand, which is my current hypothesis."

He paused the recording and started pulling up files. Surely this would demonstrate that research notes were being recorded inaccurately, and from there he could start figuring out why.

However, all the times were consistent.

Carlos frowned and unpaused the recorder. "I am finding no significant discrepancy between the lab notes and the computer logs. Nothing to explain the oddities in older notes. The computers should still be in synch with UTC, so that implies that this week's notes are fine." He glanced at his watch, blinked, looked again. "Hmm." The times were different. His watch was four hours and 20 minutes ahead.

That was odd.

Carlos never looked at his watch. For one thing, tracking time was a distraction. For another, he had a cell phone. So it wasn't that strange that he hadn't noticed the shift in time.

What _was_ strange was that it had shifted so _much_.

"This watch synchs automatically to the atomic clock in Fort Collins, Colorado, _constantly_ , via radio signal," Carlos told the recorder. "It should be accurate. And it's saying it should be evening already."

He raised his arm to look at the watch again. "I'm going to test my watch's stopwatch against my laptop's," he said. He tapped the button on the side of the watch that flipped modes from clock to stopwatch. "Oh. It's already running. I forgot. I was messing with the stopwatch last week when I set all the computer clocks." Carlos had been trying to reacquaint himself with a watch he really only wore because it looked cool. He must have started the stopwatch while he was randomly pressing buttons and never thought to stop and clear it.

How fortuitous.

The stopwatch was currently at 196:23.33. Carlos typed that number into a text document on the laptop and converted it to minutes. He then pulled up the log of when he'd reset the computer clocks. It turned out it had been pretty much exactly this same time, on Monday. In other words, one week ago.

"...wait."

The discrepancy was _far_ more than just four hours.

" _Don't panic_ ," Carlos told himself.

A number of things could be going on here. He needed to eliminate some possibilities. "First possibility: today is not today because certain parties want it that way," he said vaguely into the recorder. "Evidence against this: I'm pretty sure I remember every day this week happening. I don't remember any day being, like, twice as long, or anything like that." He frowned again. "But I have lost track of time a lot lately."

Carlos pushed up off the couch and began pacing around the room. "Second possibility: someone is playing an elaborate joke on me. Somehow. By hacking a radio watch I'm always wearing, or interfering with the signal from the tower in Fort Collins. Neither of which seems likely. Third possibility..." He stopped pacing and shook his head slowly at himself. "Time is slowing down in Night Vale."

He couldn't think. He was having trouble breathing. Surely there was a perfectly logical explanation. Surely.

But then, he'd seen so much strange since he'd been here. Maybe the strange was even stranger than he'd ever imagined.

He sank back onto the couch and stared sightlessly at his phone. He didn't want to call his team, not even to have them verify his results. He didn't want to see them right now. He didn't want _them_ to see _him_ right now.

He didn't want to see anybody, and yet, he wanted to see _somebody_. It was weird and he didn't understand it and the frustration churned in his gut.

Carlos scrolled through the meager contact list in his phone, slowing a bit when he hit the Ps.

Cecil had left a card with his phone number on it at the lab months ago. His home phone number. _Just in case_ , he'd assured Jessica, who'd answered the door. But the card had read _Carlos - Call me!_

Carlos didn't really know why he'd snuck the card out of the trash and put the number into his phone. He'd told himself at the time that it was so he'd know who it was if Cecil ever called him. Now, though, his thumb hovered over Cecil's name in his contact list, and he wondered about his true intentions.

The phone was at his ear and ringing before Carlos realized what he'd done.

"Helllllloooo?" Cecil said, in the fakest casual voice Carlos had ever heard, and despite how he was feeling, despite his confusion and loneliness and even fear, the scientist wanted to burst out laughing.

He forced himself not to. "I need to talk to you," he said instead, without preamble. "This is important."

"Um, okay," Cecil said.

Carlos let out a breath. "Cecil," he said, "I think time is slowing down in Night Vale."

There was a pause; was Cecil drinking something? "Ohhhh?" the radio host replied languidly.

Carlos grimaced. This was a mistake. But they were already on the phone; he'd try to get it out anyway.

"Last week. Seven days, twenty-four hours each day, sixty minutes in each hour. That's ten thousand eighty minutes in a week, right?"

"Uh-huh," Cecil said, still in that coy voice. "Go on."

Carlos closed his eyes. "Well, I ran some figures, and during that same amount of time in Night Vale, eleven thousand, seven hundred eighty-three minutes elapsed everywhere else in the world. That's more than a full day longer." He took a breath. "I don't know what's happening."

Cecil's response was immediate and enthusiastic. "Neat!"

"Um." Carlos literally had no response for that. Well, okay, it _was_ pretty neat, actually. If you could stop being _terrified_. And Cecil thought _Carlos_ didn't listen?

"So," Cecil said abruptly, "do you want to get together sometime and talk some more about this? It's _really fascinating_."

"No," Carlos said quickly. _Shut it down, shut it down now._ This was, after all, a guy who incited violence and obsessed over strangers. "But I need you to help get the word out and see if anyone has noticed a massive time shift, okay?"

" _Anything_ for y--science. For science."

"Thanks," Carlos said. "Bye." He cut the line before Cecil could respond.

Carlos wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to accomplish with that phone call. It had been pointless. Utterly pointless. He sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions and tilting his head toward the ceiling.

A memory of serious radio professional Cecil Palmer decked out in glow-in-the-dark leggings floated into his mind. It just...suited him, in a way it really shouldn't. Especially after the conversation they'd just had. Carlos wondered what Cecil was wearing today, and he smiled despite himself.

"Okay," he said aloud, and his mind felt clear again. "I don't have enough data. I need to look at some more clocks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Peters, you know, the farmer? ships it.
> 
> While episode 16 came out on February 1, that's a Thursday, and I didn't think it was realistic for Cecil to have waited four days to mention that Carlos called over the weekend. So I am pretending that the show aired in Night Vale on February 4. (This is completely arbitrary. It may or may not actually have something to do with the nature of time. Only JFink and JCra can know.)
> 
> I commissioned the accompanying image from [postapocalypticrainbow](http://postapocalypticrainbow.tumblr.com/). View it [here](http://kiri-stansfield.deviantart.com/art/commission-Watching-The-Fireworks-556957388).


	7. Did You Hear That, Listeners? A Date!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings. So many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, it's the events mentioned in "The Phone Call." Again, pretending that episode aired in Night Vale on a Monday.

Following that ridiculous phone call with Cecil, Carlos spent several hours collecting all the clocks he could find. He retrieved every clock from the lab. He borrowed clocks and watches owned by his team. He literally went door to door asking his neighbors to hand over their timepieces. He went downtown looking for municipal clocks and trying to investigate them without irritating any officers of the Sheriff's Secret Police. Then he stayed up all night, surrounded by clocks.

The team went to work the next morning without him when they realized he was in a science frenzy, and he was glad, because none of this made any sense and he was the team leader and he should know what was happening.

Every single Night Vale clock he'd been able to study was empty on the inside. He'd open the rear panel and find absolutely nothing. Except for those times he found quivery gray lumps...

By early afternoon, Carlos was tired and hungry and a little manic. And he had apparently called Cecil again. Several times, if the recent call log on his phone could be believed. Carlos thought he vaguely remembered leaving voicemails about the clocks...

Losing track of time while trying to make sense of it was _not_ encouraging.

Carlos poked listlessly at one of the gray lumps with the business end of a screwdriver, watching the motion ripple through the gelatinous mass. He'd done all he could do on his own, really. Calling Cecil made sense. The radio host could get the word out. He could get Carlos more information. That was probably why Carlos had kept trying to call him.

Come to think of it, why hadn't Cecil ever answered? They hadn't actually spoken; Carlos was sure of it. Was Cecil busy?

"Oh," Carlos said aloud. It was Monday. The radio host was probably doing his show.

Carlos flipped on the radio for the first time that day. Cecil's show was indeed on, and the weather segment was playing. But that meant Cecil could probably talk now, right? Carlos scrabbled for his phone.

Before the first ring even had a chance to sound in Carlos' ear, Cecil picked up. "Hellooooo," the radio host said. It was different from the way he'd said the word yesterday; rather than up, the Os went suggestively down.

Carlos coughed. "Hi."

"I am, in fact, free tomorrow afternoon," Cecil said. "I would be happy to meet. Where were you thinking?"

Had he asked to meet Cecil? Carlos felt very, very tired. "Um. Coffee?" he said, clenching his eyes against the strain of conscious thought.

"Coffee would be lovely." Cecil recommended the Moonlite All-Night Diner, and Carlos typed the name into a text file on his laptop, because at this point he didn't trust himself to remember.

"Okay. Like around 3?"

"Perfect," Cecil said.

Carlos shook his head, and a stray thought fell into place. "Um. Night Vale has a clock tower, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"I went looking for it today, and I couldn't find it. Has anyone ever actually seen it?"

Cecil made a noise that Carlos couldn't identify. It sounded like something between a snort and a gasp, with a little coughing thrown in for good measure. "Um. Nooooo," he said slowly.

Carlos blinked.

"I mean," Cecil continued after a pause, "it's _invisible_ , and _constantly teleporting_."

"It...what?"

"Um." Cecil sounded uncomfortable. "Did you not know that?"

"Er, no," Carlos said.

"Oh."

There was another pause, and then Carlos said, "So I'll see you tomorrow. Bye," and quickly hung up.

~

Carlos spent about an hour preparing questions for Cecil. After that, he was basically in a holding pattern until tomorrow's meeting. With little else to do, and not really wanting to be alone with his thoughts, Carlos decided to finally head in to work.

He'd barely taken a step into the lab when the entire team shouted, "CARLOOOOOOS!"

The scientist stopped in the doorway, blinking. "...what?"

"Oh my god, _you didn't hear the show_ , did you?" Jessica gasped.

"Damn, I knew we should have started recording them," Dave said.

Akiko was smirking. Keyon was outright _grinning_. Had whatever was going on with time done something to his team as well?

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Rochelle laughed. "You were sort of the big story on Cecil's show today."

"I...what?"

"He was like, 'Guess who called me _this weekend_ ,'" Jessica said, doing an absolutely horrendous Cecil impression. The entire team joined in again: "'CARLOOOOOOS!'"

"Wait," Carlos said. "He said my name. Like _that_. On the air."

" _Yes_ ," Jessica gushed.

Carlos stumbled over to his, okay, fine, _fainting couch_ , and threw himself across it.

"It was _hilarious_ ," Keyon said with a quiet laugh.

"So you called him to ask about time I guess," Jessica said, "but he thought you meant that _time slows down when you're together_."

"And then when you actually called him _during the show_ , he _played your voicemails_ ," Rochelle added.

Carlos bounced up into a sitting position. " _Really_ ," he said.

"Yeah, we got to listen to you ramble about taking clocks apart for a while, until the Man in the Tan Jacket showed up."

"...who?" 

"Oooh, we wondered if you'd remember," Akiko said. "In the next message, you seemed to have completely forgotten he was there."

"Ugh," Carlos said, "I wish you _had_ recorded it. I have no idea what happened or what I said in those voicemails. Apparently I asked Cecil to meet?"

The entire team burst into laughter.

"What?" Carlos demanded. "What did I say?"

"Oh," Jessica giggled, "it's more what _Cecil_ said!"

"All you asked was if he was free tomorrow afternoon, and if he had contact information for the mayor and the Sheriff's Secret Police," Dave said.

"But after playing that message--" Jessica couldn't get out the rest of the sentence. She collapsed onto the couch next to Carlos, swiping at tears of laughter.

"He said, 'Did you hear that, listeners? _A date_!'" Rochelle snorted.

The team dissolved into wordless merriment. But those last words thundered in Carlos' ears. _A date! A date! A date!_ Carlos sank bonelessly back into the couch, and it felt like his insides just kept sinking. Everyone was laughing, clapping him on the shoulder, smiling at him like they hadn't for so long. Like he was their friend again.

But all he could think of was Cecil Palmer, dressed in some impressively bizarre outfit that inexplicably suited him, sitting alone at a diner with a cute, hopeful little smile on his face--and how he, Carlos, would be the one to banish that smile.

He shook his head, stomach roiling. "You guys," he said. His voice was too quiet under all the laughter, and no one heard him. He stood up. " _Guys_ ," he repeated, loudly.

The laughter subsided to intermittent sniggers.

"It's not funny," Carlos said.

The team exchanged glances. Dave frowned. "How is it not funny?" he asked. "I know we were worried he was some sort of stalker, but he hasn't actually _done_ anything..."

"Not _that_." Carlos felt his hands balling into fists; he worked to keep them at his sides. "This guy. He seriously thinks this is a date. And it's _not_ a date. It's going to _crush him_. It's _not funny_."

No one was smiling now. Jessica took a step forward, raised a tentative hand. "Carlos," she said, but couldn't seem to figure out what to say next.

Carlos shook his head again. "I've gotta go." He turned, stalked out of the lab, got into his car, and drove.

~

Carlos drove for a long time. He drove out to the monitoring station, then turned the car around and drove back. He drove to Radon Canyon, headlights slicing through inky blackness. He drove to the sand wastes. He drove past the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. He came across the Moonlite All-Nite Diner, glowing minty green in the night, and he drove a little faster. He was completely defeating the purpose of owning a hybrid car. He didn't care. He drove, and he worked to think of nothing.

A few times he caught himself heading toward Night Vale Community Radio, and he course-corrected immediately.

Eventually, finally, Carlos drove to Old Town, to the house. The rest of the team was home, and Dave had made dinner. Carlos didn't remember the last time he'd eaten. He didn't want to eat now, either. He stumbled upstairs and fell into bed and lay awake for hours.

~

The next morning, he was very, very hungry.

Carlos rolled off his bed, sniffed the air, and blearily realized he'd been wearing the same clothes for three days. Well, that wouldn't do.

He couldn't decide if he wanted to eat first or shower first. He wondered if there was some way he could do both. Maybe he could invent something...

There was a knock at his door. "Er. Come in."

"Hey, Carlos." It was Jessica. "I brought you some eggs and toast."

" _How did you know_ ," Carlos breathed, snatching the plate from her hands and shoveling half its contents into his mouth before she even had a chance to reply.

"Well, you know, we're all scientists here."

Carlos had to smile at that. "Yeah," he said around a mouthful of egg.

"Ew." Jessica gestured at Carlos' mess of a bed. "Mind if I sit?"

"Sure," Carlos said, slowing to a more sedate eating pace and sitting down next to her.

"So I guess you've had a pretty rough couple of days," Jessica ventured.

Carlos _hmmph_ ed. "I guess," he said.

"Looks like you forgot to eat for a while. And you worked all night Sunday night, didn't you?"

Carlos shrugged.

"We all know what it's like to overdo it. You need to take care of yourself."

"Yeah, I know." Carlos shoveled the last bite of egg into his mouth and crunched into the toast.

"Think you could chew any louder?"

Carlos wrinkled his nose at her and attempted to oblige.

Jessica rolled her eyes. " _Anyway_ , we're going to leave in about half an hour, if you want to carpool."

"Nah, I'll drive myself. I have to go meet Cecil this afternoon." Carlos frowned, lowering the piece of toast. "And tell him...something."

Jessica sighed. "That was pretty mean of us, to make fun like that," she said. "It's just...I don't know, I think it's because he's on the radio. It didn't really seem real."

"...I guess that makes sense," Carlos allowed. "You guys haven't really ever talked to him."

They lapsed into silence as Carlos finished off the toast. When he was finished eating, Jessica stood. "Well, I'll let you get cleaned up," she said, taking the plate. "See you at the lab."

~

Carlos usually had fun with his outfits, but today he needed to be strictly professional. "Bland it is," he announced solemnly to the mirror, surveying his brown loafers, tan khakis, and light blue button-down dress shirt. A standard workday lab coat completed the look.

He couldn't help but style his hair, though. It tended to go crazy if he _didn't_ style it. And to be perfectly honest, he took a lot of pride in his hair, especially now that it had grown back to an acceptable length.

~

Morning at the lab crawled by, yet passed far too quickly. Carlos distracted himself by checking in on his team's projects. Dave was trying to cause substances _other_ than wheat and wheat by-products to turn into snakes. Akiko was studying the sounds the sun made, looking for a pattern, or a reason for that matter. Keyon was in the back room messing with the My First Ritual Sacrifice Kit. Meanwhile, Rochelle and Jessica were still working with their samples at the back of the lab, except now the samples were too large to be kept in Petri dishes and were instead housed in giant cases of reinforced glass.

Speaking of Rochelle and Jessica...

"Akiko, I've got a question about one of your older projects," Carlos said, approaching her workstation. He half expected her to scowl at him, but she merely looked up expectantly from the computer model she was running. "So...the New Year's soul-merging. Is it permanent?"

"What?" Akiko said. "No, it wore off on New Year's Day. No big deal. It was all in my report."

"Yeah, but then...why are they still acting like that?" Carlos gestured to the back of the lab, where Jessica and Rochelle were gazing at each other, exchanging occasional giggles and arm touches.

Akiko let out a small snort. " _That_ is because they're _dating_ now. Are you blind?"

"...huh."

Carlos supposed Jessica and Rochelle being in a relationship couldn't possibly affect the team more than The Incident had. Plus, he wouldn't really have a leg to stand on if he said anything. Akiko's small smirk told him she was probably thinking the same thing.

"That's cool," Carlos said dismissively, tipping his head back and lacing his fingers at the back of his neck. He strolled back to his lab bench. Vaguely, he wondered what would have happened if he'd taken John Peters, you know, the farmer, up on his New Year's offer. Come to think of it, John had made the offer to Cecil too. Was the farmer, like, really lonely? But Cecil had said there was only one person he'd want to soul-merge with...

Carlos' heart thudded in his chest. He lowered his head and sighed.

~

Carlos pulled up at the Moonlite All-Nite Diner at 2:30. He'd arrived half an hour early to give himself more time to figure out what in the world he was going to say to Cecil.

He'd turned people down before, but not like this. This was different. It had taken him a long time to recognize _why_ it was different, but last night had been something of a crucible, and he'd come out of it with new clarity.

He had feelings for Cecil Palmer.

It seemed so _obvious_ now.

Carlos had been attracted to Cecil since the day they met, since he first saw that thrilling, wicked smile. He was entranced by the radio host's deep, rich voice, and the way it turned coquettish when Cecil flirted with him. The way Cecil was at once shy and bold, vulnerable yet strong. The way sometimes he appeared so straightforward, and other times seemed to know unknowable things. Cecil was a mystery, a puzzle, an intrigue, and yet he wore his emotions so plainly.

Carlos had never gone for a guy who looked like Cecil before. But the radio host had warm eyes and soft hair, and the curve of his neck seemed to awfully need the attention of a questing mouth. His hands were deft, with fingers that were probably perfect for intertwining. And other things.

And that smile. Those _lips_.

Carlos liked the way Cecil dressed for work, like a 1940s newspaper writer stereotype in a starched shirt that was just begging to be either slowly, teasingly unbuttoned or torn off all in a rush. He liked the way Cecil had dressed at New Year's--that tunic, tempting Carlos with flashes of skin, and those leggings, revealing to Carlos the lines of Cecil's body.

Sitting there in the parking lot of the Midnite All-Nite, eyes closed, hybrid coupe idling, Carlos took deep, slow breaths and fought to banish all those thoughts. Finally he cut the ignition and got out of the car.

"You can _do_ this," he told himself aloud, shutting the car door definitively. Sure, it would be hard, but he had time to clear his head. He'd go in, get a table, and plan what he was going to say. It would be fine. He would be fine. Resolutely, Carlos strode into the diner...

...and came to an abrupt stop in the doorway. Cecil was already here.

The radio host was sitting at a booth toward the center of the dining room, absently scrolling through something on his phone. Part of Carlos' brain noted that he definitely liked what Cecil was wearing today: sandals, a pair of bright purple harem pants, a black silk shirt, and some sort of large, poofy shoulder wrap that seemed to be composed entirely of gray faux feathers. The radio host also had a small purple flower behind his left ear, which was _really_ cute.

The rest of Carlos' brain was busy panicking.

He was considering turning around and running back to his car when Cecil glanced up and spotted him. A smile erupted across his face, and he started excitedly waving. Carlos returned a weak half-wave, swallowed, and made his way over to the booth.

"Hi, Carlos," Cecil said affectionately.

Carlos hated himself.

"Hi, Cecil," he said.

"I just got here," Cecil said, though the mostly-empty coffee cup in front of him belied this statement. Maybe he didn't want Carlos to think he'd been waiting.

"Oh," Carlos said dumbly. "Okay."

He wondered if he should tell Cecil that this was not a date _before_ he sat down. That would be the kinder thing to do, right? To not lead him on? Carlos' mouth opened, his throat worked, but no words came out. He faltered, then slid into the booth across from Cecil.

"So," Cecil said, in the tone of someone who was about to ask a question, but then their server appeared.

"Drink?" she asked Carlos as she refilled Cecil's coffee mug.

"Um. Do you do cappuccinos?"

"Yup," the server said, and stalked off.

"Huh," Carlos said.

" _So_ ," Cecil said again, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on interlaced fingers, "um. How are you liking Night Vale?"

"Er. It's good," Carlos said. "There's lots of science." He wrenched his eyes away from Cecil's mouth. "But. About the clocks. Did anyone call in?"

"Oh," Cecil said. "Well. Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town, said he's taken apart quite a few clocks in his day, and they were all just as you said."

Carlos pulled his phone out of his pocket, glad for something to look at that wasn't Cecil, and tapped himself a note to get more details from Larry. How many clocks? Over what period of time?

"The Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in all of our homes disassembled one of my clocks," Cecil continued. "She left it on the coffee table, all in pieces. Well, just the two pieces. That's about all there is to a clock, right? I put it back together and it was good as new."

That was something Carlos hadn't tried yet. He made another note.

"Anyone else?" he asked without looking up.

"Nooooo," Cecil said, extending the word thoughtfully. "Well, nothing about clocks, anyway."

Carlos had to look up at the sudden shyness in Cecil's voice, and he caught the radio host flushing.

_Oh. Right._

"Cecil," Carlos said, and Cecil clasped his hands together and leaned forward and _gazed_ at him and it was all he could do not to bend forward into those lips. Carlos shook his head at himself, closing his eyes briefly, then looked back at Cecil with the most serious, professional expression he could muster. "I think...you've misunderstood something."

Cecil drew back a little at that. His keen eyes went soft, cloudy.

"Er," Carlos said hastily, "I mean, I wasn't clear. I should have been clear. I wanted to talk about clocks today, and time, and get contact information for the mayor and the sheriff, if you have that."

"We can talk about anything you want, Carlos," Cecil said. His voice seemed flatter. "I do have contact information for Mayor Winchell. The sheriff can't be contacted directly, but there is a spokesperson you can get in touch with. I'll text those numbers to you, if that's all right?"

"That would be great," Carlos said, forcing a smile. "Thank you."

Cecil seemed to withdraw even further. Normally, at least in Carlos' experience, Cecil's personality expanded to fill any space he happened to occupy. Now it was like he was curling into a quiet little ball on his side of the booth, and witnessing it made Carlos feel hollow.

While Cecil was absorbed in his phone, the server reappeared, depositing a cappuccino in front of Carlos. Carlos glanced down, suppressed a gasp of horror, and quickly unwrapped the bundle of silverware in front of him. Plucking out the spoon, he swirled it in the coffee, destroying the heart some misguided barista had drawn in the foam.

"Did you want to order something to eat?" the server asked. Cecil oh-so-casually raised his eyes.

"No," Carlos forced out, mercilessly. This was _not_ a date. They weren't going to eat together. This was a work meeting.

Cecil gave the server the smallest smile Carlos had ever seen. "No, thank you." The server walked away, and Carlos took a long drag from his cup.

"And _send_ ," Cecil said in a light yet empty way that made it sound like half his personality had been siphoned out. He tapped his phone, and a moment later Carlos' phone buzzed to alert him of the message.

"Thank you," Carlos said again.

"I'm happy to help the scientific community in any way I can," Cecil replied. His beautiful voice was so heartbreakingly flat. "Please, let me know if I can be of any further assistance."

Carlos couldn't stand it. "You've been a great help," he said. "I really appreciate it. Thank you, Cecil." He stood and reached for his wallet.

Cecil held up a hand. "I've got it," he said.

"I couldn't," Carlos objected.

"Please."

There was something about the word, something about the way Cecil said it. Carlos paused, then put his wallet away. "Thank you," he said. How many times had he said that now? And it wasn't enough. It wasn't what he wanted to say at all. "I'll...see you around." He turned stiffly.

"Goodbye," Cecil said, and for just that one word, his voice returned to the rich, sonorous depths that made Carlos' toes curl.

Somehow, the scientist managed not to turn back.

~

Driving to the lab, Carlos absently flipped on the radio. The weather segment from Cecil's show was on.

Wait. Had Cecil...come to meet Carlos in the middle of his workday?

Had he worn that outfit to work, or had he changed into it during his break? Did he now have to quickly change back into his work clothes?

...did Cecil, after having his heart torn to shreds in public, now have to try to hold the pieces together while addressing thousands of strangers?

Carlos' hands tightened on the steering wheel. Maybe Cecil had the day off. Maybe someone else was doing the show--

But the weather ended, and Cecil's voice replaced it.

"The greater Night Vale medical community has just issued a warning to all citizens: Keep your paperclips properly sorted. Sort them by size _and_ by color. One or the other isn't enough. It's just not enough. Oh, we pity you if you foolishly sort all silver paperclips together without keeping small ones away from large ones, a representative hissed through an air vent in the rec center's well-appointed, if slightly small, kitchenette."

He sounded...normal.

The team had the radio on when Carlos arrived back at the lab. He listened and pretended to focus on his work. Cecil said nothing about Carlos, or coffee, or clocks. His voice was even, steady, with a perfectly professional amount of inflection.

At the end of the day, the radio host concluded his program in the same sort of way he always did:

"So let us keep our paperclips properly sorted, listeners, and we should all be fine. Or at least, we will all be as fine as we ever are. We must never forget to regard everything we encounter with suspicion and dread. That's one of the first lessons we learn in our shared childhood nightmares, and it's allowed many a sentient being to live, if not a _long_ existence, if not a _pain-free_ one, _some_ sort of existence, at least.

"Stay tuned next for the sounds of a burrowing owl and a yawning bear, repeated rhythmically over a dubstep beat for thirteen hours.

"Good night, Night Vale. Good night."

It was over. Cecil would give up on his crush now. There would be no more soliloquys about perfect hair and teeth, no more mooning over how _smart_ Carlos was. Cecil would finally realize there was no way he knew Carlos well enough to have feelings for him. Or he'd just move on to someone more interesting. Either way, it was over; Carlos was now free of worries about weird radio hosts with unnerving fixations.

Which was good. It was what he'd wanted. Now he could focus on his research.

Right?

~

The next day, Carlos was late dragging himself out of bed. After a lackluster bowl of Flakey-Os, he decided to stay home from the lab again and work on reassembling all the clocks. As he sorted through the mess of pieces on the coffee table, Carlos listened to the radio, because now it would be all he would ever have of Cecil. And that was right, it was good, it was proper. But it was also a leaden stone in his gut.

Cecil calmly wrapped up a traffic report, then paused to transition to a new story. "So," he said, and there was suddenly life in his voice, strength--and what sounded like annoyance. "Coffee with Carlos didn't go _exactly_ as planned."

Carlos' hands stilled, dropped to his lap. He blinked.

And then he laughed, and his eyes burned, and his chest swelled, and his heart was light.


	8. For Now, Existence Is Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos is curious about things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place before, during and shortly after "Valentine," "The Traveler," and "Sandstorm."

Carlos was feeling a little _too_ relieved that Cecil hadn't given up on his crush. He recognized that, logically. Illogically, the feeling persisted. He wondered if he should maybe do something...call Cecil, try to make it clear that nothing was ever going to happen.

The idea of attempting that talk again was not appealing.

Calling him might just egg him on, Carlos reasoned. It was too soon. The better thing to do would be to lay low, to not contact the radio host for a while.

Unfortunately, Valentine's Day was rapidly approaching.

Carlos had begun marking time by events or discoveries rather than by the calendar. He continued to date the team's notes, but he'd decided to stop worrying so much about the accuracy of those dates. The day was whatever day City Council said it was, whatever day Cecil reported it was on the radio. Past days were not a predictor of future days. Sometimes you could know in advance that a day was canceled. Sometimes you couldn't. As for the clocks in Night Vale, well, they weren't real clocks, but they told Night Vale time, which was enough to get by on.

Not worrying about this made it a lot easier for Carlos to work, although every now and then he'd catch himself staring off into space, muttering, "What day _is_ it, even?"

He did know that Valentine's Day was nigh. People in town had been increasingly muttering about it to each other, whispering the name of the holiday in low, shuddering voices. The closer February 14th came, the harder Carlos found it to concentrate, and people's bizarre behavior concerning the holiday only added to his morbid anticipation.

What would a guy like Cecil do for Valentine's Day? Would he buy candy and flowers? Would he write a poem? A song?

_Would Cecil broadcast a serenade to Carlos on the radio, letting the whole town hear?_

"Um. Carlos? Why are you blushing?"

"And what's with the goofy grin?"

"...Shut up."

Cecil's show provided surprisingly few clues. Whenever the upcoming holiday was mentioned, it was in vague, confusing contexts, like, "Be sure to stock up on two-by-fours and plastic sheeting, and check the seals on your HAZMAT suit."

(Carlos' name never came up at all. He was starting to wonder if he should be insulted.)

~

Carlos was making a grocery run the day before Valentine's Day when he noticed something odd. The Ralph's had drastically lowered prices in the Health and Beauty and Adult Beverage sections, but they had _not_ stocked more cards, candy, or flowers than usual, and there were no red hearts, no pink streamers...no Valentine's decorations at all.

He was standing in the greeting card aisle, rubbing his chin and considering why the store hadn't capitalized on the holiday, when he heard a timid "Oh!" behind him.

"Oh," Carlos echoed, turning to find Cecil Palmer standing there. "Hello."

The radio host was dressed for work in a rather boring, plaid button-down, a teal sweater vest, brown slacks, and penny loafers. A shopping basket hung from the crook of his elbow, and there was a silver ring on his pinky finger. A small rebellion against the dress code, perhaps.

Carlos scratched a hand into the mess of curls at the back of his head, the motion pulling his sleek gray lab coat open just enough to reveal how the Vivienne Westwood White Twisted short sleeve shirt he was wearing hugged his body.

 _Whoops_. That was a club move, or a first date move. Not a meeting-your-stalker-in-the-store move.

Carlos shoved his hands into his pockets, but the damage was done--Cecil was alternately staring and quickly looking away, face pink.

His own cheeks warming, Carlos glanced down at Cecil's shopping basket. It contained the sort of things Cecil's shopping basket normally contained: gluten-free pasta, something slithery, orange milk.

"All ready for Valentine's Day?" he asked stupidly.

Cecil straightened, his face going serious. "As ready as anyone _can_ be," he said. "I'll be going in early tomorrow and staying late. As long as it takes."

"Uh huh..." Carlos said, frowning.

"Have you and your team made preparations?"

"Um," Carlos said.

"What am I thinking? Of course you have. Cecil, don't insult him," the radio host chided himself. "You're probably best-prepared out of the whole town. But...if I could make a selfish request?"

"A...request?"

"Stay indoors? I know there's bound to be scientifically interesting things going on, but with it being Valentine's Day and all, maybe you could stick to the lab for the day."

Carlos pursed his lips, sliding his hands back out of his pockets to hug his elbows. "You want me to stay in the lab all day," he repeated. _You want to be sure of where I am tomorrow_. He had to ask. "You're not sending me a valentine, are you?"

There was a loud clatter as Cecil's basket of groceries crashed to the tile floor. The radio host blinked, then stooped to gather up the fruit that had bounced out. Carlos waffled awkwardly for a few seconds before crouching down to assist. He accidentally jabbed the first piece of fruit square in one of its many eyes, eliciting a deafening squawk.

For a long moment there was silence as the men scrambled to recapture the fruit before it got away. Then, eyes downcast, Cecil finally said, "Oh, Carlos." His voice was soft. "I mean, sure, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't...disappointed. About what happened." He blushed furiously. "But I would _never_ do _that_ to you!"

 _About what...happened?_ Carlos wondered, sitting back on his heels and leaning his forearms on his knees. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to realize Cecil was referring to the coffee non-date of a dozen radio shows ago. "Oh," he said, slowly. "Are...are you mad?"

"What?" Cecil said in a surprised bark, finally looking up at Carlos. He flushed again and immediately turned his gaze back to the ground. "I...I wouldn't have the right to be mad. It was my mistake."

This, Carlos thought, was unexpectedly reasonable. "If it helps," the scientist said, "I'm sorry. For the misunderstanding."

"Oh!" The radio host's voice was suffused with a cross between surprise and delight. A blinding smile filled his face, and Carlos' right hand was suddenly between both of Cecil's, palm clasped in one, knuckles covered by the other.

Carlos noted, objectively, that Cecil's hands were warm and strong. The pinky ring was an odd point of cool pressure against the back of his hand. Out of nowhere--simple scientific curiosity, surely--the question of what it would be like to lace their fingers together floated into his mind. His hand twitched reflexively.

"Oh!" Cecil said again, startled this time, and he dropped Carlos' hand. The scientist felt suddenly, oddly, lost. "It's all right." Cecil offered an embarrassed little smile. "You're very kind."

Carlos had forgotten what they were talking about.

"Er, well," he said, rising from his crouch, "I'd better get back to my shopping."

"Of course," Cecil nodded. He straightened and picked up his basket. "Be safe tomorrow!"

Those last words didn't register until Carlos was halfway home with his groceries.

~

The lab and the scientists' rental house both came through Valentine's Day with minimal damage, despite the fact that none of them had made any preparations whatsoever. Jessica cryptically said, "Oh, _right_ , Valentine's Day" just before the screaming began, but that was all the warning any of them got.

They were pretty lucky, considering.

Jessica said another odd thing a few weeks later, upon hearing Cecil eating an enchilada on the air (which was also odd): "We should really get some of those enchiladas."

"Yeah?" Dave had asked.

"Yeah, by tomorrow they'll be gone, and they're _really good_."

This was strange because Jerry's Tacos had only reopened a few hours earlier, and Jessica hadn't left the lab all day, and Carlos didn't think the scientists had even been to the restaurant last summer before it was encased in amber--they had only just arrived in town.

But the team had lunch at Jerry's Tacos, and they had to agree, the enchiladas were excellent.

~

It wasn't long after Valentine's Day that Night Vale endured another apocalyptic event. They were somehow starting to become routine. Terrifying, terrifying routine. The team had already lived through something comparable to the latest crisis, though that fact didn't make it any easier to take.

An unexpected--or expected, and just forgotten about, if you believed Cecil's reporting--sandstorm had rolled into Night Vale. The storm coincided with, or possibly caused, the spontaneous appearance of duplicates of everyone in town.

Well, mostly everyone. Of the scientists, only Jessica was affected. The team had managed to corral her double in an oversized pen, and they were in the middle of debating the ethics of running some experiments when the sandstorm ended and the double disappeared.

At that point, there were two things Carlos was desperately curious about, and he honestly wasn't sure which one took priority. One of them, of course, was the nature of the doubling effect--how had it happened? Why had it happened? Was it a natural occurrence, or had someone caused it? A few months prior, a mirror version of Night Vale had been created and destroyed in an instant. The local government had blamed the event on faulty bloodstones, but now another doubling had occurred, and Carlos wondered if there wasn't more to it, if the incidents were somehow connected.

Then there was the second thing. Carlos couldn't help but admit--to himself, anyway--that he wanted to know whether Cecil was doing okay. It had sounded terrifying, not only meeting his double, but being transported to a completely different place.

The two points of interest sort of went together. After all, the doubles probably came from the place Cecil went to, right? That was a logical hypothesis, if based on minimal evidence. It would make sense to interview Cecil about the experience, see what other evidence there might be.

Total sense.

And so Carlos showed up unannounced at the radio station the day after the sandstorm. It was early; the show wouldn't start for another few hours. Intern Dana wordlessly guided the scientist to the newsroom, which housed a bank of desks along a wall with windows looking out to the street, and left him there.

Cecil was hunched over one of the workstations, scrawling notes with what looked like, well, a pen, but was actually a stick and a drinking straw bound together with rubber bands. He seemed to be using ketchup as ink.

The scientist suddenly felt rather stupid; he and his team had been punching Morse code into paper for the past several months. He swallowed his embarrassment and said, "Um, hi."

Cecil jolted upright, his head whipping around. "Carlos!" he said with enthusiasm. Carlos couldn't help but notice the deep bags under Cecil's eyes, and the way the man swiveled his chair around rather than standing up. "It's lovely to see you."

"Hi," Carlos said again, awkwardly. "Um. Sorry to interrupt your work. I wanted to ask you..." He trailed off; Cecil had crumpled backwards in the chair like he didn't even have the energy to hold himself upright. "Are you...okay?"

Cecil smiled, a small, warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm fine," he said. "What did you need to ask?"

 _That was it_ , Carlos almost said. He didn't know what he was thinking, coming here the very next day. _I just wanted to know if you were okay_. "I wanted to ask about your double," he said instead, stupidly.

Cecil closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "I understand," he said. "I'll answer as best as I can."

"I don't want to keep you from your work," Carlos rushed to add. "If this is a bad time--"

"It's fine," Cecil said, leaving his eyes closed.

Carlos stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, rocking back onto his heels. Cecil looked half-dead. "Should you even be here?" he asked. "Maybe you should take a sick day."

Cecil smiled thinly, still not opening his eyes. "I couldn't possibly take a sick day."

Carlos supposed he could understand that. Even when he didn't feel up to going to the lab, he didn't typically stop working. "Well," he said hesitantly, "I heard the show. So I know you went into a dark, bluish vortex of some kind. And then on your way back, you ran into someone. And while you were gone, someone else was on the radio."

Cecil's face went ashen, his eyes opening to slits. "Station management was _not_ happy that I abandoned my post," he said, barely loud enough to hear. "They were pretty mad at Dana, too, for letting someone unauthorized get on the air. But she had just killed her double...or had just been killed by her double..." He trailed off.

"The man who came on the radio didn't sound like you at all," Carlos pressed on nervously, "but he said the picture on the desk looked almost like a picture of himself. And since you encountered someone who looked like you in the vortex, I hypothesize it's the same man, and he went back to wherever you had just come from."

"Desert Bluffs," Cecil said. "I'm told he talked about Desert Bluffs while he was here. So I must have been in... _Desert Bluffs_." The radio host shuddered. " _Ugh_."

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "What's the deal with Desert Bluffs, anyway?"

"They're _awful_. And they're _terrible_ at _everything_."

Carlos fought down a smirk at that. "But, I mean, is Desert Bluffs in a different dimension?"

Cecil shrugged, closing his eyes again. "Not unless you can get to another dimension by driving down Route 800."

Carlos wouldn't be surprised if you could. He almost said as much. But Cecil just looked so...drained. Exhausted. Empty. Carlos was already sorry he'd asked the man anything at all.

"Um. I think that's all I need," he mumbled. "Thank you."

"I'm happy to help the scientific community in any way I can," Cecil recited in a tired voice.

Carlos' chest felt tight. "I'm--I'm glad you're okay." He instantly regretted the words, because Cecil so very obviously _wasn't_ okay...but the radio host opened his eyes, fully this time, and straightened in his chair.

"Thank you," he said, and there was warmth in his voice.

Carlos swallowed thickly, sliding a hand out of his pocket and raising it as if to place it on Cecil's shoulder. He caught himself halfway and slid his fingers back through his own hair instead.

The slight change in Cecil's demeanor had made the vice grips on Carlos' lungs loosen a bit. He drew a deep breath, wondering if there was something else he could say that would get the radio host's spirits up. Something that would last longer than a few seconds. Something safe, though. Innocuous.

The scientist scratched at the back of his head, glancing up at the ceiling in thought. "Hey," he said finally, "I heard something like you have a floating cat here?"

"Khoshekh!" Cecil brightened. "Yes! He lives in the men's bathroom. Would you...would you like to meet him?" The radio host sounded oddly shy.

"I would," Carlos said, grinning at the welcome smile that blossomed onto Cecil's face. "He sounds very scientifically interesting, what with the floating and all."

"It's this way," Cecil said, rising excitedly from his chair.

~

Just as Cecil had said on the radio, the cat was floating at a point roughly four feet in the air, right next to the sink.

"...wow," Carlos breathed. "He's...magnificent."

Khoshekh was large and well fed, with the clearly defined spinal ridge and tendril hub of a mature animal. He must have recently molted; his fur was practically shimmering, and his fur cusp looked to be quite sticky.

(Something seemed wrong about all that, but Carlos couldn't quite figure out what. He supposed it didn't really matter.)

Cecil beamed. "He's my sweet boy. My buddy," he said lovingly, and his voice was far fuller and richer than it had been just scant minutes earlier. Carlos felt himself going hot in the face, and he couldn't seem to stop smiling. "Do you want to pet him?"

"Yeah," the scientist said, staring at the cat, not trusting himself to look at Cecil.

"Watch out for his mouth--his venom sacs are full. And stay away from the spine ridge, of course, but I'm sure I don't have to tell _you_ that!"

Carlos had only moved forward by a step when he started sneezing, and he could already feel pressure building in his sinuses. He was probably going to be miserable for the rest of the day.

He'd live with it.

The scientist held out a tentative hand, brushing his fingers down the side of Khoshekh's face and then scratching lightly behind the cat's ear. The animal let out a deep, rumbling purr and closed his wickedly mesmerizing eyes. Carlos ran his hand along Khoshekh's flank and then up the animal's tail, deftly avoiding his spine. Khoshekh shifted in midair, rubbing his face into Carlos' lab coat.

"He likes you," Cecil said happily. Carlos grinned, and his chest was light.

He kept petting Khoshekh until his sneezing grew too violent and he could no longer see through the tears streaming from his eyes. Then he finally drew away and turned back to Cecil. The radio host was smiling broadly, his head cocked to one side, and Carlos flushed a little under the man's approving gaze.

"He's great," Carlos managed to say through his rapidly growing congestion. "Beautiful."

Cecil looked ready to explode with joy. "Don't forget to wash your hands!" he said, opening a cabinet on the other side of the sink and pulling out a medicine bottle. "And here are some antibiotics."

~

Carlos was still smiling as he drove away from the radio station. He couldn't help but feel pleased with himself, even if his face was a torrent of tears and his head felt like it was going to crack in two. He was halfway to the lab, humming along with the radio, when suddenly a wall seemed to crumble in his mind and he realized what had been bothering him earlier.

"Wait," he said thickly through all the mucus, "that wasn't a cat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to add: [Carlos' shirt](http://www.viviennewestwood.com/shop/mens/clothing/shirts/white-twisted-short-sleeve-shirt)


	9. You Hold Me Too Tightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Steve Carlsberg appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes along with "Poetry Week."

It didn't take a day for Carlos to recover from his allergic reaction to Khoshekh. It took three.

His nose blocked, his head a cloud of haze and pain, Carlos had barely been able to slog from bed to the lab and back. His hands slipped. He dropped test tubes. There were explosions, and they barely registered through the pounding in his skull. He couldn't think of much of anything beyond _That was_ not _a cat_.

On the fourth day his head still throbbed, but things around him started becoming clear again. Dave was moping because he and the Big Rico's server had broken up. Akiko had formulated a theory about the sun's possible susceptibility to sharpshooter fire. Rochelle and Jessica's samples were now too large for the lab, and they were renting a flatbed truck to transport them to Radon Canyon. Keyon, after several unsuccessful attempts, had managed his first summoning (thank the old gods for bloodstone circles).

The radio came back, too; Carlos supposed the team had been listening to it every day, but he'd been in no state to hear or comprehend. Now, though, there was Cecil, as cool and ominous as ever. 

It was nice. It felt sort of like he was welcoming Carlos back from his time of torment.

Carlos still wondered about Khoshekh, though. The creature was _not_ a cat. But when Carlos had been in the same room, he'd definitely _thought_ it was a cat. And Carlos was allergic to Khoshekh in the same way he was allergic to cats.

Psychosomatic allergies? Or something else entirely?

It was very scientifically interesting. He just wasn't sure it would be worth it to investigate.

~

"Scientists say that the 20% must go somewhere, because of something to do with something called 'thermodynamic laws'," Cecil said. "But police officials remind us that scientists are comedians, and that they should stick to comedy."

Dave frowned at the radio. "I was just trying to help," he said. "But I think the Sheriff's Secret Police are being a little, er..." He thought the better of what he was about to say. " _Too good at their jobs!_ "

Keyon snorted softly.

The team was out at the monitoring station off Route 800, giving the festivities in town a wide berth. Apparently, unavoidable supernatural events like Valentine's Day didn't happen frequently enough, so in the downtime between crises, Night Vale City Council manufactured its own devilments. One of those was Poetry Week, occurring right on the heels of the sandstorm. It wasn't as bad as the annual Sorrow Songs Sing-Along, in which the participant with the best song was ritualistically drowned...but unlike that event, Poetry Week was mandatory for citizens.

None of the scientists was actually a citizen of Night Vale, so Carlos figured they were exempt. Just in case, though, they were keeping a low profile. While they waited out the week at the monitoring station, they took the opportunity to transcribe their old Morse code notes and chronicle their latest experiments, as pens and pencils were once again temporarily legal.

Carlos was sitting in an Art Deco-style rolling office chair at a boxy, vintage 1940s metal desk. Both pieces were perfectly characteristic of the World War II chic of the monitoring station, with its banks of ancient computers and the red telephone on the wall. And they were in pristine condition; an interior designer would have a fit over them.

Carlos had been pretty impressed himself, at first, but now he sorely wished the chair was more comfortable.

The scientist stood with a groan, stretching his arms out over his head and enjoying the series of pops that ran up his back. He laced his fingers behind his head and strode away from the desk; it was time for a break.

There wasn't much to do out here. He'd explored the complex several times already. The government workers who usually manned the station were off this week, writing poems. There was nothing new to see and no one new to talk to. Carlos wasn't sure how he was going to manage being cooped up for seven full days.

Strolling past a wall of cathode ray tube monitors with rounded panels of thick glass--this place really _did_ look like some kind of early Cold War command center--Carlos leaned over Dave's shoulder.

"Everything good?" he asked.

"Same as the last time you asked," Dave said, "five minutes ago." Carlos sniffed at him and walked away.

None of the rest of the team was particularly interested in Carlos' ennui, either. Akiko gave him a 'go away' stare. Rochelle didn't even glance up from her paperwork. Keyon looked bored, but Carlos didn't quite feel comfortable striking up a conversation.

When he got to the minimalist desk where Jessica sat, head down, furiously writing, Carlos paused. "Huh," he said. She was not transcribing Morse code notes or making new observations. The words she was writing didn't even really seem to make sense.

_Interception_  
Running, running  
Use your own arms  
Use your own legs  
Darkness and green and whale-oil lamps 

"Jessica?" he asked.

The brunette jerked upright with a "What?" that was a little too loud and a sweeping hand motion that may have been intended to gather the papers in front of her into a hasty stack, but instead sent them flying all over the floor. "...crap," Jessica muttered, and stooped to retrieve them.

Carlos knelt down to help. "What are you working on?"

She paused, then continued gathering up her papers. "I was trying to write some poems. I'm not very good at it, though."

Carlos had ignored a lot over the past few months, because his team's private lives were their private lives and he was certainly in no position to judge anyone--let alone Jessica, who'd been his sole ally there for a while. But this was getting ridiculous.

He let out a slow breath and handed over the pages he'd gathered from the floor. "I've been meaning to ask you something," he said.

Jessica looked up, wary. "Yeah?"

"Are you, like, originally from Night Vale, or something?"

His fellow scientist sat back in her chair with a sigh, slapping the pile of papers onto the desk. "Sort of," she said.

"Sort of?" Carlos straightened and crossed his arms.

"I can't _really_ explain," Jessica said with a grimace. "I'm not supposed to. And sometimes I can't remember, anyway."

"…huh." Good old Night Vale and its authoritarian ways. Honestly, it made it hard to get anything _done_.

Carlos glanced reflexively at the ceiling.

"Well," he said, shaking his head, "it's no big deal, as long as it doesn't affect our work. If you need to write poems this week, that's fine...obviously we're not getting any experiments done."

Rochelle was looking their way from across the room. Carlos wondered if Jessica had told her girlfriend more than she'd told him. _Probably_. But that was fine, wasn't it?

He couldn't help but be curious, though. After all, he _was_ a scientist.

~

By the end of Poetry Week, Carlos was climbing the walls.

"Get _down_ from there," Akiko shouted up at him. "If you fall and hit your head we'll have to find another team leader, and that'll just be a _giant hassle_."

"But there is nothing else to _do_ ," Carlos whined from atop the metal access ladder. "At least this is _kind of_ interesting?"

It wasn't, really. From here he could survey the tops of the ancient tape-drive and magnetic-drum computers that filled the monitoring station's basement, and if he stretched he could reach the HVAC ductwork, but that was about it. For the millionth time he wondered if he'd been too cautious. Maybe it would have been fine to continue normal fieldwork during Poetry Week. Cecil hadn't even warned him about anything.

Of course, he hadn't seen Cecil since the day after the sandstorm.

_Huh_.

Carlos held tight to the side rails of the ladder, leaned backwards and tipped his head upside-down. Below, Akiko shouted something else, but he ignored her.

He'd done a lot of thinking about Khoshekh in the past couple weeks, and a lot of thinking about his torturous allergies...but he'd forgotten why he'd encountered Khoshekh in the first place. He'd been trying to make Cecil feel better.

Cecil's radio show had been perfectly normal since the sandstorm, at least as far as Carlos could remember. Cecil seemed fine. Carlos had heard no cracks in the man's smooth voice, no quiet sighs, no hints at distress.

The scientist tugged himself upright, his stomach going leaden. Sure, Cecil seemed okay on the radio. But he'd seemed okay immediately following the Coffee Incident, too. He was a professional. He could fake it.

_Was_ Cecil okay? _Could_ he be, after what had happened to him during the sandstorm?

It hadn't even occurred to Carlos to worry about him.

Carlos huffed out a helpless breath. What could he do at this point? He was stuck here. And calling or texting Cecil would just be weird. Especially if it gave Cecil the wrong idea.

Cecil was in love with an idea, an image of a perfect scientist that Carlos most certainly was _not_. Carlos couldn't be what Cecil imagined he was, and it would only hurt Cecil if he tried.

Carlos never wanted to hurt Cecil again.

_We are not dating_ , Carlos reminded himself firmly. _We are not even friends._ All they were was...well, it was hard to define. Cecil had a baseless crush, and Carlos had...well, Carlos had feelings, but they were stupid feelings. Feelings for a guy who was strange and somewhat terrifying. Feelings for a guy who didn't even know him, but thought he was in love with him.

It wasn't Carlos' responsibility to make sure Cecil was okay. Surely Cecil had someone else in his life to take care of him. Some friend. Family.

He sighed. Just as there was plenty about Carlos that Cecil didn't know, there was plenty about Cecil that Carlos didn't know.

The scientist decided he felt like being upside-down some more. He hooked his knees onto a rung of the ladder and his ankles around the side rails, then let his body dangle backward and down until he was inverted against the cool metal. He hung there listlessly, eyes closed, arms limp, for several minutes...until Dave suddenly bellowed from below, " _You idiot, GET DOWN FROM THERE_."

~

Late on a Saturday night, Cecil announced on the radio that Poetry Week had ended. Carlos released the team and practically ran to his car. He tossed his lab coat-filled suitcase and paperwork-stuffed laptop bag into the backseat, flung himself into the front seat, and drove straight to Night Vale Community Radio.

Then he drove past it, flooring the gas.

"Look," he told himself aloud, "even if he was a _normal_ guy who actually liked you in a _normal way_ , which he is _not_ , you don't have _time_ for a relationship. You're here to _work_."

_Not to mention you don't_ deserve _a relationship._

Cecil was strange and frightening and a little pushy--okay, maybe more than a little--but he was also honest and brave and kind. He'd never hurt Carlos. He'd never hurt anyone. He didn't even want to hurt the horrifying double who'd attacked him in the vortex.

Meanwhile, Carlos was selfish and bratty and only thought about himself. He used people for his own happiness. His team knew who he was. Cecil didn't; that was the only reason he thought Carlos was anything special.

Carlos drove until the radio station was no longer visible in his rearview mirror. And then he drove some more, and Night Vale itself receded behind him, and he was out in the desert, alone in blackness.

He pulled onto the side of what had become an unpaved road. He shut off the car, got out, and sat on the trunk, sprawling back against the rear window.

He was far enough out of town that traffic and industrial noises were reduced to a low, distant hum. Now he was surrounded by cricketsong and the quiet scratching and rustling of other desert creatures--geckos, jackrabbits, scorpions probably, maybe spiderwolves, all invisible in the night.

It was oddly soothing. Carlos let out a long breath and gazed up at the stars.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been lying on his car staring into the heavens and void when a new sound broke into the peaceful noises around him. Human footsteps were approaching across the sand.

Carlos quickly sat up. The bobbing beam of a flashlight was growing ever closer; it moved over his coupe, flicked straight up into his face.

Carlos squinted, shielding his eyes. His heart hammered in his chest. The natural world was one thing; at least there you sort of knew what to expect. People were a different matter entirely. Was it the Sheriff's Secret Police? Was there a curfew he'd forgotten about? Was it an agent of a vague, yet menacing government agency? Was it someone else, someone operating outside of Night Vale's labyrinthine system of laws? The scientist swallowed and wished he'd stayed inside the car.

"Well, hello there!" sounded a cheerful voice. "Wouldn't normally expect to find you out here, this time of night."

The voice was familiar, but Carlos couldn't place it. He squinted into the beam and replied cautiously, "Hello?"

"Oh! Sorry." The light moved up and away from Carlos so that it was instead illuminating the man's face from below. It looked like he was about to tell a ghost story.

Carlos blinked in recognition. "Steve Carlsberg?" he said.

"That's me," the other man replied with a smile. The shadows from the flashlight transformed the smile into a leer, a jarring contrast to his friendly voice. "Nice to meet you, Carlos."

Carlos didn't bother asking how Steve knew his name. _Everyone_ knew his name. "Likewise," he said, though he wasn't sure he meant it. This was the guy he'd seen Cecil with on New Year's, and he'd never quite figured out what the deal was with that.

...not that it mattered in _any way_.

"So what brings you out here?" Steve asked. "Some science thing?"

Carlos scratched at the back of his head. "Not really. I just needed...some _space_." He laughed at his clever joke, gesturing at the sky, then explained, "I've been stuck at the monitoring station all week."

"Oh! Well, I get being worried about Poetry Week, since you're an interloper and all," Steve said sagely. "But it's not really dangerous. At least, not during the week itself."

"I wondered," Carlos said. Then he frowned at the correctness of what had to be a guess on Steve's part. Was Carlos that easy to read? The scientist leaned back, propping himself up on his palms, feeling slightly perturbed. "It'd be nice if there was a manual or something," he said.

"The New Citizen Welcome Packet might help," Steve suggested. "You can get one at City Hall, if you become a citizen."

"I...don't know about that." Carlos paused. "I mean, I'm just here to do science," he added hastily. "Not to, like, settle down."

Steve nodded. "Then probably the best thing is to listen to Cecil's show. He always says what they want him to."

Carlos coughed at the audacity of that statement. Sure, they were out in the empty desert, but that didn't mean there weren't eyes and ears all around them. "Um, yeah," he said, scratching nervously at the back of his head again. "I do. Listen."

"Then you'll probably know as much as anyone else does, at any given time," Steve said. "That's just kind of...how it is."

Starting to feel uncomfortable, both with the conversation and with how he was still perched on the trunk of his car, Carlos slid to the ground.

He was going to ask. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. It was none of his business. But he was going to ask anyway.

"So, um...Cecil...um..."

Steve chuckled a little. "Yeah, he says some stuff about me."

"...yeah," Carlos said.

"He doesn't, well, he doesn't see things the way I do. And he's protective of Janice. Thinks I'm a bad influence. On my own daughter." Steve laughed a little, and the laugh was somehow completely free of malice. "I just want what's best for her. I want her to understand things." He sighed and lowered the flashlight, casting the pool of light onto the ground between them.

Carlos cleared his throat a little. "What's...um. What's Cecil's relationship to Janice?"

"Oh! Gosh, you don't even know _that_! I'm sorry! He talks about you so much, I thought you would know by now."

The words were thoughtless, and Steve clearly didn't mean anything by them, but Carlos felt a frown twitch at his lips and an angry knot form just below his ribcage.

"Cecil is my wife's brother," Steve explained, cheerfully oblivious. "He's Janice's uncle."

It took Carlos a moment. "... _oh_ ," he said, belatedly. "So you were never..." He stopped himself.

"No!" Steve laughed, again somehow knowing what Carlos was thinking. "Gosh. How funny would _that_ be?"

The knot in Carlos' stomach was gone as rapidly as it had materialized. He frowned at _that_ , at himself, and let out a small sigh.

"So you like him back, then?" Steve said.

"No!" Carlos said. Then, "No," he repeated. "He's...weird. And a little creepy. And he's not my type. And I didn't come to Night Vale to _date_. There is _so_ much _science_ to do!"

Steve nodded, his placating smile barely visible in the starlight. Carlos scowled. Okay, fine, he was obviously lying, but Steve didn't have to be so smug about it.

"I gotcha," Steve said, and he winked, and Carlos scowled some more. There was a moment of silence, and then Cecil's brother-in-law let out a tired, slightly nervous chuckle. "Well," he said, tugging at the front of his long-sleeved baseball tee, "I guess I'd better be getting back."

It was Carlos' turn to nod. But as the other man moved to step away, the scientist found himself asking, "What were _you_ doing out here, anyway?"

Steve paused, and then he said, "Just looking at the sky."


	10. The Gentle Winds of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos belatedly gets a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smidgen of "A Memory of Europe" and "The Whispering Forest".

"Has Radio Guy ever talked this much about himself before?" Dave asked.

"Shh," Carlos replied, without thinking. Dave and Rochelle exchanged looks, and Carlos pointedly ignored them. Cecil had just said something about a traveling companion. _A two-bed hostel. So they weren't_ together _together. Just traveling._ But then what was that bit about rolling, and intoxicating flowers, and it always being the middle of the night?

Carlos hadn't been to Svitz, but he guessed it must be at a pretty northern latitude to not see any sun. In late spring? Did that even make any sense?

He shook his head. Cecil had moved on to the news, and it didn't really matter _anyway_ what had happened on Cecil's trip to Europe. Even if he _had_ been there with a boyfriend, who _cared_? It was _years_ ago. And even if it _hadn't_ been years ago, it didn't _matter_ , because Carlos was _not_ interested in--

"Carlos," Rochelle said flatly, "do you want to do it, or not?"

"No!" Carlos said. " _No_ , I do _not_ want to--wait, what are you asking?"

Rochelle sighed. "The same thing I always ask when we're out here. Do you want to try knocking on the door?"

"...oh," Carlos said. "Right." He looked at the house, rubbed his chin, and said, "Hmm." Then he slowly turned away. "Maybe next time..."

~

"How long has this been here?" Carlos held the cream-colored envelope up so the others could see. It was a few weeks after their jaunt to the Desert Creek housing development, and the team was at the lab, filing reports about a certain house's continued lack of existence in makeshift pen. Carlos had come across the envelope while searching through a stack of supply boxes to find something he could use for ink. "It was under the box of rubber gloves."

"Huh," Dave said. "That box arrived, like, _weeks_ ago. What's in the envelope? Is it a packing slip maybe?"

"The outside just has my name on it." Carlos lowered the piece of mail, turning it over in both hands to gaze once again at the elegant calligraphy. It was _actual_ calligraphy, done by hand with a real calligraphy pen--or at least someone's deft recreation of one. The envelope was made of such nice paper that he almost didn't want to open it. He found a pair of scissors and carefully slit the top edge.

The paper within was the same fine, smooth stock as the envelope, with two crisp, precise folds. He raised the top edge and discovered that the letter itself was also rendered in beautiful calligraphy. _Lovely Carlos_ , read the first line.

"Oh," Carlos said, and there was a sudden thudding in his chest. He refolded the letter quickly, looking up to make sure the other scientists hadn't seen. "This is, um. Personal." He fled outside to his car.

Settling himself in the driver's seat, Carlos drew a slow breath. He hadn't seen Cecil in...what was it now, a month? First he'd been recovering from his allergies, and then he'd been trapped at the monitoring station, and then...

Then he'd thrown himself back into his work, because that was why he was here. He'd listened to the show, but he hadn't gone by the station, or even called in any reports. And that was fine, wasn't it? He was not here to think about oddly alluring radio hosts with deep, smooth voices, and wicked grins, and kind hearts, and an incongruous sort of honest innocence.

Never mind that Carlos had pretty much been thinking of Cecil constantly.

The scientist's hands shook a little as he unfolded the letter again.

_Lovely Carlos,_

_Thank you for coming to see me after the sandstorm. Thinking back on our conversation, I can't imagine that my answers to your questions were of any scientific use to you at all. Yet you stayed, and you asked about Khoshekh. It means a lot to me that, at a time when you surely had important science to be working on, you spent the evening with average, ordinary Cecil Gershwin Palmer._

_I wish you all the best in your scientific endeavors. Maybe I'll see you at the Ralph's?_

_Warm regards,_   
_Cecil_

Carlos realized he'd been holding his breath. He let it out in a rush.

"Average?" he said aloud, laughing a little. "Ordinary?"

"What's ordinary?" came Dave's muffled voice through the window, and Carlos yelped and jumped and looked up to see that the entire team was gathered outside his car.

He carefully folded the letter again, slipped it back into the envelope, and placed the envelope in his glove box. Then he climbed out of the car, shut the door, and made a show of pressing the door lock button on his keychain. "None of your beeswax," he said primly, shouldering his way through the crowd of scientists and returning to the lab.

~

"But once you learn how to create a makeshift non-pen out of a cocktail straw, some cotton, and any number of colorful municipal food pastes, you'll be good to go," said Cecil, his voice issuing forth from the radio in the corner.

"Yeah, yeah," Carlos grumbled good-naturedly. " _Rub it in_ , why don't you." He wasn't sure he'd ever quite get over how much time the team had spent taking notes in hole-punched Morse code, never realizing they could have simply _made their own pens_. He was a _scientist_ and he invented things _all the time_ so _why_ had it never occurred to him?

Thankfully, Cecil would never know about this.

"You know, you've been having a lot of one-sided conversations with the radio lately," Akiko said. "How about you just _call_ him, so he can actually _respond_?"

Carlos laughed awkwardly. "What? I don't do that."

"You do it _constantly_ now," Jessica said, her voice mild, but one eyebrow raised.

"It's funny," Rochelle added. "He hasn't talked about 'beautiful Carlos' in a long time. Did you two have a fight?"

" _Guys_ ," Carlos moaned. While a small part of him was happy that the team was finally comfortable teasing him again, the rest of him was spectacularly _unhappy_ that they'd chosen this particular topic.

Dave came to his rescue. "So do you think we should check out this Whispering Forest thing?"

"We're not botanists," Carlos said, giving Dave a thankful look. "We're _scientists_. Let's defer to the experts on this one."

~

Carlos lay awake that night holding Cecil's letter over his head, reading and rereading it. He felt warm. Anxious. He couldn't decide what to do with himself. He wanted to show the letter to everyone. He wanted to keep it a secret. He wanted to write back to Cecil immediately. He wanted to _see_ Cecil immediately.

Objectively--and Carlos always tried to be objective--there wasn't much to be excited about in the letter, beyond perhaps _Lovely Carlos_. Cecil had signed off with a pleasant, friendly _Warm regards_ , nothing more. And Carlos knew he shouldn't be excited anyway. When you couldn't be with someone, the worst thing you could do was spend a lot of time thinking about them.

_Ugh_. Carlos threw his head back against the pillow, letting out a sigh of exasperation. He'd managed not to think about it in those terms before. He'd been so clever, framing the situation in different ways, or just shutting down certain trains of thought.

But now he'd gone and done it. Now he was thinking about _being with Cecil_ and how theirs was a _love that could never be_ and his heart was pounding again and his breath was coming faster and _what was wrong with him_?

Okay. So. He was admitting he wanted to be with Cecil. Fine. But Cecil had sent the letter nearly two months ago. Weeks had gone by for Cecil without a reply from Carlos. And in that time, Cecil hadn't mentioned Carlos on the show at all. Carlos couldn't actually remember the last time Cecil had said his name on air.

Cecil probably thought Carlos was ignoring the letter, trying to blow him off. He probably thought Carlos was cruel and callous.

And it was _fine_ if Cecil thought that, right? It was _good_ if Cecil never talked about Carlos on air again, never sent him a letter again.

That way, Carlos would never have a chance to hurt him.

Carlos' heart felt tight as he gazed at the beautifully penned letter. He carefully folded it up, then slipped it into the lower drawer of his nightstand. He would keep it. Maybe that was stupid, but he wanted to keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one this time. I actually had most of this written for weeks and couldn't figure out how to make it work with what comes next. I guess it just wanted to be on its own!


	11. Fire Is Actually Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos finally comes to terms with something...while Cecil must come to terms with something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeeeeey it's "Eternal Scouts".

Carlos was pretty sure Cecil hated him. Cecil never mentioned Carlos on the air anymore, and they'd even stopped coincidentally running into each other in the Ralph's or at Big Rico's.

It was flattering to think that those meetings might not all have been coincidences. But now Cecil was over his crush. Now he knew the truth: Carlos was callous and unreliable. There would never again be another thinly-veiled request for a date, or cute outfit chosen especially to impress Carlos. There would never again be another lovely handwritten letter.

Carlos tried to stop listening to Cecil's show, tried to cut the strange, fascinating man out of his life entirely. He managed about three days before giving in and irritably slapping the radio on during a particularly uncooperative experiment. (It was _great_ that spiderwolf venom turned cheese into matchsticks, but it only happened _sometimes_ , and Carlos was having a hell of a time isolating whatever other factor--or factors--might be involved.)

"We report only the real, the semi-real, and the verifiably unreal. Welcome to Night Vale," Cecil said. Carlos closed his eyes. There was tension in his shoulders, he realized, and upon realizing that he also realized he could relax them. He did, and he sighed out a long breath.

Cecil started off with news about Khoshekh, because of course he did. Apparently the creature--there was no way Khoshekh was a cat--had given birth. Carlos smiled to himself as Cecil went on and on about the "kittens". He was so--well, he was just so cute.

The show moved on to other news, something about the Boy Scouts, and Carlos let his mind drift. It seemed like it had been a very long time since he'd heard that sonorous voice. It was amazing, really, how calming it was to listen to. How lovely. Carlos felt as though Cecil's voice was smoothing out his thoughts, clearing away days of emotional clutter.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open. "Oh!" he said.

Carlos had been very careful to follow the same exact procedure when extracting venom from each of the spiderwolves in the study. But now it occurred to him that the spiderwolves themselves had reacted differently. Some of them had looked straight at him during the procedure, while some had looked away. He'd been so focused on other data--ages, sex organs, diets, bowel movements--that he hadn't considered the possibility of a conscious component to the venom. Perhaps there was intent; perhaps the spiderwolves _chose_ when their venom would have the power to transmute cheese.

Carlos grinned as he ran down the notes from each procedure. "Yes, yes, yes!" he cried softly. There was a correlation. He couldn't help but do a little dance at his lab bench. Of course, further study was needed, but now he had a hypothesis! Carlos spun in place, still grinning, then set to work designing more experiments.

~

The work just seemed to go so much more smoothly with Cecil on in the background. Carlos didn't know why he'd been so resolved not to listen to the show anymore. Listening was fine. It didn't hurt anything to just listen.

He was evaluating beakers full of bubbling liquids and humming cheerfully to himself when he noticed a change in Cecil's tone, a softening.

"'We could have had something, Cecil.'" Carlos realized Cecil was quoting someone. "'Always remember that.'"

"Wait," Carlos said, "who was that? Who was he quoting?"

"Some Boy Scout scoutmaster," said Dave, glancing up from his row of petri dishes. "Never heard of him before."

"Earl Harlan," Jessica supplied.

"Are they--were they--was Cecil--" It was like he was fighting his own tongue. " _Bleh_. Were they. Um. Dating."

"How would I know?" Dave frowned.

"So Cecil didn't _say_ they were dating."

"That's literally the first time Cecil mentioned him on the show. Today, anyway," Akiko said.

"Do you know him, Jessica?"

Jessica leveled a cool gaze at Carlos. "Why would I know him?"

"Oh. Uh. No reason." Carlos scratched awkwardly at the back of his head. "I mean. You knew his name."

"Cecil _just said it_."

"...right."

"Carlos," Keyon said, and Carlos looked up, surprised. "This thing you have for Radio Guy--"

" _I don't have a thing for_ \--"

"You do," Keyon said. "And you've had it for a _really_ long time." He glanced away. "I'm pretty sure I know how long."

Carlos froze. He stared at Keyon. He felt like he should be shaking, but he couldn't move. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

"I mean," Keyon said, folding his arms, "I knew _something_ had to have triggered it. I just didn't know what, for a while. Certainly nothing _I_ did."

Carlos' mouth worked silently.

"And the way you went from being all freaked out to having conversations with the radio, and then you got that letter, and you were all jealous of the guys from that trip he went on when he was in college, and then here lately you've been avoiding the radio...and now you're all obsessed over this scoutmaster guy. I don't know, it seemed kind of obvious before, but now it's like there's a neon sign over your head saying 'I love Cecil Palmer.'"

Suddenly able to move again, Carlos let out a shuddery breath and slumped against the lab bench. He stared at the floor. "I'm trying to get over it," he said, in a voice that sounded pathetically small. " _He's_ obviously over whatever he felt for me. And--and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you're right. Back then, I was--I was so stupid, I was pretending I didn't have feelings, I wanted to forget. I'm sorry."

"You _drink_ to forget," Jessica chided him mildly.

"I've already forgiven you," Keyon said. "It's a little weird. But...you really aren't a bad guy, Carlos. You made a mistake. A _big_ mistake. But, I mean, you _are_ sorry. It's not like you don't care. I appreciate that."

Carlos glared at the toes of his black stilettos. "Dave practically had to hit me over the head. You all did. I was so--so selfish. I hurt you, and you're wrong, I only cared about myself."

Keyon sighed and flopped down on the couch.

"You care _now_ , dumbass," Akiko said. "If you didn't, we wouldn't bother with you. Stop wallowing. Keyon, you had something completely different you were trying to say, didn't you?"

Carlos glanced over to the couch. Keyon had tipped his head back and was gazing at the ceiling. "I was just gonna say...if you like the guy this much, and it's lasted this long...you should do something about it."

"I _am_ doing something--"

"Not _that_. Something like...I don't know. _Telling him how you feel_."

"What?" Carlos spluttered. "But I mean--he doesn't--and I--he--"

"You don't know that he doesn't care anymore," Jessica said.

"He hasn't talked about you on the radio in a while, but that might just mean he's respecting your privacy, finally," Dave put in.

"You can't know _anything_ if you don't talk to him," Rochelle said. "I mean, not all of us are lucky enough to accidentally soul-merge." Jessica smiled and took her hand.

Carlos barely noticed. He was too busy wishing he could sink into the floor and disappear. He hugged his elbows. _Something, anything, save me_.

Abruptly, there was a rap on one of the front windows, sharp, pronounced, like someone had thrown a rock. Everyone in the science team turned to look.

It was--a child? It looked like a child, but...

In any case, whatever it was, it was staring in at them with a strange, dead expression. And then it moved forward, banging its head against the window again.

"What the--?" Dave said.

"...herds of strange, mute children are streaming out of the burlap tent, filling all public and private spaces and standing silently, as though awaiting an order from some unknown higher source," Cecil was saying on the radio. "The Sheriff's Secret Police advise that the children are _creepy_ and that they are _creeped out_ by them."

" _Yeah_ ," Carlos agreed, staring at the child. "It can't get in here, can it?"

Rochelle strode swiftly forward and checked that the doors and windows were locked. "Not unless they break in," she confirmed. "Oh, and there are more of them out there. A _lot_ more."

"Is there a--procedure, for dealing with 'strange, mute children'?" Carlos asked, trying not to look at Jessica.

"Not that I'm aware of," Dave said.

Carlos let out a breath. "Okay," he said. "Let's just...wait them out, I guess." He paused. "I hope nobody's hungry."

~

They got back to work, the horrified screaming from outside blending with the weather report on the radio to create a surreal sort of white noise in the background. The mute children were attacking, but from what Carlos and his team could see from the safety of the lab, it appeared that Night Vale's citizens were holding their own...which was good, as none of the scientists was particularly eager to go out there and risk being attacked themselves.

They did, however, take notes.

Eventually the attack ended and all the mute children shuffled away, moving in concert as if they shared a hive mind. Carlos sank onto a lab stool in relief as Cecil's voice returned.

"After their period of ominous silence, all they did was attack, savagely, dragging many citizens with them into the tent over the vacant lot out back of the Ralph's. Secret Police indicate only ten or so people were taken, and maybe a dozen more killed."

"That's...actually not that bad of a death toll," Jessica said.

Carlos sighed, propping his hands behind himself on the stool and staring at the ceiling. "If we'd had _any_ warning, maybe we could have done something. But these local rituals, I just..." He trailed off, and the entire team lapsed into silence.

Then Cecil was suddenly saying that Scoutmaster Harlan was taken by the children. Carlos wheeled toward the radio. "I think often about the last moments with him, and the things that were said," Cecil remarked. His voice sounded flat, emotionless. Maybe a little contemplative. "I think often about many things. Other things, I think less about."

What did he mean by that, "think often"? Was he referring to "last moments" other than the moment he'd described earlier, the moment of _We could have had something, Cecil?_

"Maybe they _were_ dating," Akiko said.

" _Right_?" Carlos said. "Doesn't it sound like that?"

Maybe _that_ was why Cecil had stopped talking about Carlos on the radio. He'd found someone else.

He'd found someone else...and now he'd _lost_ them.

Scoutmaster Harlan had predicted this. He'd said goodbye. And Cecil had done the only thing he could do.

He'd reported it.

Carlos suddenly wanted to throw up.

Numbly, he pushed himself off the stool. "I've got to--I've gotta go." And then he was through the door and the lab was behind him and he was in his car and he was driving.

~

Cecil's show ended while he was still in the car. He didn't know what he was doing or where he was going.

Okay, fine. He didn't know what he was doing, exactly, but of _course_ he knew where he was going.

The radio tower loomed large above him, its red light dispassionately blinking as he clambered out of his coupe, sprinted up the sidewalk, and threw open the heavy stone doors.

Today there was a woman at the receptionist's desk. She glanced up at Carlos over her lime-green cat eye glasses, did a double take, and asked, "Can I help you?"

"I need to see Cecil Palmer," Carlos said. He was panting a little.

"Let me see if he's still here." The receptionist picked up the handset of the square, beige office phone at her desk. It clacked against her eyeglass chain as she put it to her ear and tapped a speed dial button.

Carlos gripped his elbows. Time passed. He felt a bead of sweat collect at his temple and slide down his cheek.

"What--" he started to say finally, but the receptionist glared at him and he closed his mouth.

After another infinite moment she hung up the phone. "He's not answering at his desk," she said. "He's probably gone for the day."

"...oh." Carlos let his hands drop to his sides. "Um. Can you tell me where he lives?"

The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Right," Carlos said, laughing nervously, "of course not."

"I need to close up the office for the night," the receptionist said sternly. "You should probably be on your way, Carlos."

~

Carlos sucked morosely at the fresh wound on his thumb as he trudged back to his car. "Ugh," he said to the empty street. Was Cecil okay? Did he normally leave work this soon after the broadcast? Carlos wished he had asked that receptionist. But would she have even answered?

Abruptly, Carlos reversed direction, striding back toward the radio station and around the side of the building. He knew what Cecil's car looked like. He could see for _himself_ if Cecil had actually left.

...and apparently he hadn't, because there was his car.

Carlos would wait. He could do that, right? It wouldn't be weird to wait.

He was pondering whether he wanted to go back to his car or just sit on the curb right here when he heard a vehicle slowing, then the crunch of tires on gravel as it turned into the employee parking lot. Carlos looked up to see a rather run-down looking tan Corolla. It was missing a hubcap.

"Well hello!" Steve Carlsberg greeted him cheerfully, leaving the engine running as he opened the driver's side door. The interior lights had flicked on, revealing a woman in the passenger seat. "Are you meeting Cecil?"

Carlos grimaced. "Um," he said. "Not really? I mean, he's not expecting me."

"Oh," Steve said, sounding disappointed. He leaned down and spoke into the car. "Well hon, I guess we should go ahead, then."

The passenger door opened and the woman stepped out. She strode past Carlos as if she didn't even see him, pulling a set of keys from her purse and unlocking Cecil's car.

"Wait," Carlos said, confused. "What are you doing?"

The woman glanced at him, looked away, settled into the driver's seat, and started the engine. Steve coughed. "Um, well, we're getting Cecil's car. We do this sometimes, when it's needed."

"Is he not coming back?"

"If he does, he'll be in no condition to drive!" Steve laughed awkwardly.

It was starting to make a little more sense. Carlos dropped his gaze to the ground. "Does he--does he do this a lot?"

Steve scratched at the bottom of his flannel shirt. "Um. Not a _whole_ lot."

_And you just take his car and leave?_ Carlos wanted to ask, but didn't, because it wasn't his business, even if it seemed awful. He imagined Cecil stumbling back from wherever he was apparently drinking, discovering that his car was gone and that he had to walk home alone in the middle of the night.

"Don't worry!" Steve said, somehow deducing the reason for Carlos' frown. "It's not _that_ far a walk to his apartment from here."

"Um. Okay," Carlos managed.

"But if you want to check up on him, he's probably over there," Steve continued, and he gestured down the road to a riot of bright red and orange neon.

~

Carlos opened the door to the bar and was met with a cloud of smoke, the thick stench of alcohol, and the sight of Cecil sitting on a barstool staring at nothing. Today's outfit consisted of platform clogs, striped corduroy pants and an AC/DC tank top that had been cut off diagonally across the midsection and festooned with lacy fringe. Carlos could just make out Cecil's belly button.

He swallowed and moved forward.

"Drink to forget, right?" he said by way of greeting, and hated himself.

Cecil's head jerked up in surprise. " _Carlos_ ," he breathed.

"Um," Carlos said. "Hi."

Cecil's eyes looked glinty, catlike, in the dim, reddish lighting of the bar. He raised his glass and tipped its contents down his throat. Carlos eased himself onto the adjacent stool and tried to figure out what to say.

Cecil set his glass down with a clink. "I'm sorry about that letter," he said, glancing at Carlos from beneath lowered lashes. "I don't know what I was thinking. Totally embarrassing, right?"

Carlos blinked. Cecil waved at the bartender, who brought over a dangerous-looking bottle and refilled Cecil's glass. Carlos shook his head when she raised an eyebrow at him, and she sniffed and moved away.

Abruptly, he remembered that Cecil had spoken. "Oh! No, not embarrassing," he said, in a voice that he hoped sounded reassuring. "It was a nice letter. I got it really late, is all. I only just found it a couple weeks ago."

He turned his eyes back to Cecil just in time to see a surprised, hopeful look fade into a complete lack of expression. "Oh," Cecil said.

"It was a really nice letter," Carlos said, a little desperately.

"Okay," Cecil said. "That's good."

Carlos stared at the bar. It was presumably made of wood, but the grain wasn't--well, it wasn't like wood grain, it was more like a maze, a tunnel, a miasma, a plummeting to unknown depths...

He blinked, forcing his eyes back to Cecil and his mind back to the reason he was here. "I...I heard your show."

Cecil didn't look at him. "Ah."

"I went by the station, but you were already gone. And then Steve Carlsberg and someone else came and took your car."

At that, Cecil did look up. "Steve," he hissed, " _Carlsberg_. And my sister, I suppose. Couple of busybodies."

"Yeah, I thought it was weird," Carlos agreed. "One of them could have at least stayed to drive you home or something."

Cecil's eyes narrowed. "No, thank you," he gritted. "And maybe you could keep your opinions about my personal business to yourself?"

"Oh," Carlos stammered. "I'm sorry."

Cecil suddenly sighed and collapsed onto the bar, pressing his face into his folded arms. His next words came out muffled, and in the buzzing din of the place Carlos had no chance of understanding them. He fretted miserably for a few seconds, fingers clamping hard around the lip of the bar, before squeaking out a tentative, "Sorry, what?"

Cecil turned his head, resting his cheek on his forearms and staring at a point somewhere around Carlos' shoulder rather than meeting his eyes. "Nothing. Never mind. It's fine. Sorry for snapping at you." He turned his head away.

Carlos was still gripping the edge of the bar. He looked at Cecil, at the miserable slump of his shoulders, and brooded that he might be doing more harm than good, being here. But he couldn't even imagine leaving Cecil like this.

Carlos worked to relax his fingers, finally drawing his hands down into his lap. Then he looked at his watch, which he'd taken to wearing ever since the whole time...thing. He watched seconds tick away and wondered what the hell he was doing here, what he could say, what he could do. If there was any purpose to his existence at all.

Suddenly and swiftly, Cecil raised his head. "I guess I just...never thought of him like that," he said in a rush. "It was a surprise. I don't know. I don't know what I think." He snatched up his glass, took a sloppy, hurried sip.

Carlos looked down at the bar, then looked quickly away, finally settling his gaze on Cecil's clogs.

It had been an opportunity for real happiness. An opportunity Cecil would never get to try for, because he'd never even known it existed.

"I mean. What if he'd said something sooner?" Cecil stared into his glass. "He still would have gone to the ceremony. He had to. He'd still be gone." Cecil abruptly tossed back the rest of his drink. "I don't know if that would have hurt more or not. I don't know."

Carlos felt lost. There wasn't anything he could say or do to help at all.

He wanted to try anyway.

"Can I," he started, and Cecil met his gaze and a thrill ran straight through him, rooting him in place on the stool, "um. Can I drive you home?"

Cecil laughed shortly. "I haven't forgotten yet."

Carlos' hand was halfway to Cecil's shoulder before he realized what he was doing. He paused, then completed the motion, gently squeezing the tense muscle above Cecil's collarbone. His eyes burned. "I'll wait," he said.


End file.
